Doctor My Eyes
by moogsthewriter
Summary: When the captain is captured and comes back broken, it's up to the doctor to fix him. Gen. Complete.
1. Hear me screaming out

_**A/N**__: This was my entry for the startrekbigbang challenge over at livejournal. If you're interested, there is wonderful hand-drawn art (3 pictures) and an awesome fanmix for this story as well; links are available from my profile._

_**Warnings**__: There's nothing too graphic in here, although there are mentions of torture and abuse, as well as a good smattering of language, so read at your own risk._

_**Disclaimer**__: Not mine. All titles, characters, lyrics, etc. belong to their respectful owners. I just like to torture them and then put them back together for the fun of it._

_**ETA**__: Revised February 2012 for section breaks, grammar, and the like._

* * *

**Doctor My Eyes**

_**Part I: Hear me screaming out  
**__"I'm breaking; I can't do this on my own.  
__Can you hear me screaming out? Am I all alone?"  
__-RED, "Take It All Away"_

It was a volleyball.

McCoy stared at it, shifting so the object rested between his feet on the cracked concrete. The rubber was unmarred but covered with a thick layer of dust, much like the various structures surrounding the recreational courts – the structures still standing, anyway. Deflated remnants of other balls were scattered around on the ground; only the volleyball remained intact.

In the distance, he knew search parties were scouring the colony for survivors. He also knew there would be none – he'd already examined over a hundred dead bodies. He could hear people shouting at each other, and every now and then he heard Spock's voice as he gave another order. Everyone around him was trying to discover just what had happened to the colony, but all McCoy could think about was when he saw this same volleyball less than an hour before.

_"For god's sake, Jim, you haven't even been back on the ship for ten minutes!"_

_Kirk flashed a grin at him as he adjusted the sack slung over his right shoulder. "I promised the kids I'd patch up their equipment, so I've got to take it back to them."_

_"And then, knowing you, you're going to insist on testing it all to make sure it works properly," McCoy shot back with a roll of his eyes._

_Kirk's grin widened as he stepped up onto the transporter pad. "It's almost scary how well you know me, Bones," he replied._

_McCoy folded his arms as Scott chuckled and adjusted the controls. "I expect your ass up here in twenty minutes, Captain," he ordered. "You've been up since yesterday's Beta shift, and you won't be fit for duty if you don't sleep. Got it?"_

_Kirk rolled his eyes as he tossed the volleyball in his left hand into the air, bumped it gently with his fist, and then caught it again. "Aye, sir," he quipped. His grin softened into a fond smile as he added, "I'll be _fine_, Bones. Energize, Scotty."_

McCoy blinked as a pair of black boots stepped into his view on the other side of the volleyball, jerking him from the memory. He looked up into Spock's eyes, mouth pulling into a frown when he saw the deep, concerned furrow of the Vulcan's eyebrows. There was a patch of dark red blood across Spock's blue uniform shirt, and a streak of dirt smeared along his left cheek. "There is no sign of any human life on the planet," the first officer reported grimly.

"But?" McCoy prodded.

Spock paused, glancing down at the volleyball resting on the ground between them. "Scans of the bodies indicate high levels of antiproton residue," he said after a moment.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "The kind of residue left by Romulan disruptors?" he asked darkly.

"It appears so. In addition, the nature of the wounds and the lack of signs of hostile life in the vicinity prior to the attack suggest the use of stealth common in Romulan war tactics."

"Damn cloaking devices," McCoy growled, scanning the destruction with narrowed eyes. He'd been on the planet less than two hours ago, and the colony's main village had been bustling with almost eight hundred people. Now the only signs of life came from the crew members of the _Enterprise _as they piled the colonists' remains in rows along the streets in preparation for another ship to retrieve the bodies and take them back home to their families.

"Indeed," Spock replied calmly. McCoy wasn't fooled, however – he heard the subtle tone of fury in the Vulcan's voice.

"If the Romulans were hidden from our scanners, why didn't they wait until we'd left before attacking?" the CMO wondered.

"They may have thought we had departed from the area – a thought logical in origin, for if not for the captain's last-minute errand, we would have been well away from the colony when the attack commenced," Spock declared. "And if not for the captain's transmission…"

"We wouldn't have known about the attack," McCoy finished quietly, staring down at the volleyball again. A harsh wind laden with the scent of blood and decay gusted across the courts, sending dust and ash into the air and causing the ball to roll a little before resting against a chunk of cracked concrete.

Spock nodded. "Correct." He paused, then added, "Since the Romulans are no longer on the planet, it seems the captain's arrival changed their plans."

McCoy frowned. "What do you think they were trying to do?"

Spock scanned the far horizon for a moment. "This colony's main purpose was to explore the surrounding land for dilithium deposits. Initial scans revealed Wertus I has traces of dilithium in its crust."

"And you think the Romulans were after the dilithium," McCoy guessed.

Spock nodded again. "As Wertus I is on the edge of the Federation side of the Romulan Neutral Zone, it is only logical to assume that the Romulans would risk open warfare on the assumption that the recently established colony would have few defense systems and little protection from the Federation."

McCoy scowled darkly. "Looks like they were right."

Spock's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Indeed, Doctor." He took a deep breath through his nose before sighing softly. "It would therefore be logical for the Romulans to assume there would be little chance of encountering enforcement of the arrangement between the Federation and the Romulan Empire. It is my belief that Jim's arrival proved the Romulans' theory to be erroneous, and that they have thus retreated back into their own territory."

McCoy swallowed at that news and bent down to pick up the volleyball. It felt unnaturally heavy as he tossed it from one hand to the other. "Well, Jim's frequency is still active, which proves he's still alive. So if there's no sign of life on the planet, then where the hell is Jim?"

Spock glanced up at the steadily-darkening sky. "As you humans are fond of saying, Doctor… do not ask questions you do not want the answer to."

-o-

McCoy had always had a healthy disdain for the politicians within the Federation government. Being both a CMO and close friends with the captain of Starfleet's flagship for the last nine months had given him plenty of opportunity to see the ample amounts of bureaucratic bullshit the higher-ups were capable of creating.

The last four days had turned that disdain into pure malice.

To McCoy and everyone else onboard the _Enterprise_, the Federation clearly had the right to go after the Romulans that had kidnapped their captain. After all, the Romulans had attacked first, thus violating the treaty and giving the _Enterprise _room to take the necessary action to retrieve Kirk.

Instead, they were stuck hovering at the very edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone – literally millimeters away from leaving Federation space – while the Federation Council back on Earth debated over their right to violate the treaty.

The most infuriating aspect of the entire thing was that some members of the Council questioned whether Romulans were in fact responsible for the annihilation of Wertus I, citing a lack of evidence of Romulan activity – never mind the fact that dozens of well-respected Starfleet officials, including Admiral Pike and Commander Spock, had testified to the fact that all signs clearly pointed to Romulan activity. The dissenters pointed out the fact that up until the moment the _Enterprise_'s reinforcements had landed on the planet, there was no sign of anything wrong – even scans conducted in the moments before Kirk's final trip down to the surface revealed no signs that anything had gone amiss, let alone that Romulans were attacking.

Apparently antiproton residue, traces of transporter energy, a patch of dark green Romulan blood on the planet's surface near Kirk's landing point, eight hundred dead bodies, and a frantic transmission from Kirk himself weren't enough evidence of Romulan activity for a select few Council members.

That damn transmission was the real kicker. McCoy had been forced to listen to it three more times during their talks with both Starfleet and the Federation Council, which meant he heard the recording four more times than he'd ever wanted to in the first place. Even if he hadn't known Kirk better than anyone else onboard the _Enterprise_, he would've known something was immediately wrong just from the abruptness of the message. Yet the imbeciles on the Council weren't persuaded.

"_Kirk to _Enterprise! _Send reinforcements now! Rom_–"

It wasn't much – less than three seconds of transmission – but McCoy clearly heard the panic in his best friend's voice, and it grated on him every time he thought about it. Romulans had never been friendly to their prisoners of war, but the fact that it was James T. Kirk in their clutches was no small matter. There'd been a lot of tension between the Romulans and the Federation after the _Narada _incident, and McCoy was well aware of several threats from various Romulan leaders against Kirk. There was more than one Romulan who wanted to kill Kirk for his role in the _Narada_'s destruction nine months before.

But if any of those particular Romulans had gotten a hold of their young captain, they hadn't managed to kill him off yet. The signal from Kirk's frequency was weak, though whether it was from distance or from actual physical weakness was hard to tell. But McCoy's _Jim's-getting-himself-in-trouble _sense had been going off nonstop since the day of the attack, and somehow he _knew _that Kirk wouldn't be able to last much longer.

Which was why they needed to do something. _Now_.

"Damn it, Spock, you know as well as I do that the Romulans have Jim. They haven't made any demands for an exchange, which means they aren't in the mood to let him go," McCoy growled once again. "And if they aren't going to let him go, then that means they're gonna kill him!"

"I'm well aware of the captain's situation, Doctor," Spock replied calmly, hands clasped behind his back as he stood next to the captain's chair. "But the Federation has yet to determine if the _Enterprise_'s potential crossing into Romulan space would violate the treaty and induce another war, and until we receive approval from the Council we are unable to proceed."

The rest of the members of the bridge crew were silent as they watched the exchange. "Screw the Council, damn it!" McCoy exclaimed. "The Romulans breached the treaty, which makes it null and void!"

"The ramifications of crossing into Romulan space and inducing a war–"

"We're _already _at war, Spock! Eight hundred Federation citizens are _dead _because of Romulan disruptors! If that isn't an act of war, I don't know what is!"

"Doctor–"

"We could've rescued Jim days ago, but instead we're sittin' here twiddlin' our thumbs and waitin' for a bunch of idiots with sticks up their asses to make a decision that should've been obvious from the get-go!" the CMO ranted, pacing violently across the space in front of the captain's chair.

"Lieutenant-Commander Scott has been working on a way to retrieve the captain with the transporter–"

"You know as well as I do that he'll never be able to do that unless we can cross over into the Neutral Zone," McCoy snarled. "Scotty's good, but he ain't that good."

Spock's eyebrows lowered and he took a step forward, cutting off McCoy's pacing path. "I understand your concern, Dr. McCoy," he declared, voice hard. "Do not think you are the only person onboard the _Enterprise _who wants to see Captain Kirk brought back alive and well."

McCoy narrowed his eyes as he glared at the first officer. "If it were you in his place, he would've already crossed that damn line, and you _know _it," he hissed quietly.

Spock's eyes flashed, but before he could respond, a sudden burst of white light filled the room. Everyone flinched, covering their faces to shield their eyes. As the light faded, startled gasps rippled across the bridge.

Jim Kirk stood less than a meter away from Spock and McCoy, covered in blood and bruises. McCoy's instincts took over, and he immediately began to assess the injuries he could. Kirk's gold tunic was gone, most of his undershirt had been shredded, and there were long tears in the cloth of his pants that revealed deep gashes in his legs. Heavy iron manacles were latched around his ankles above his bloodied bare feet, and another set of shackles dangled from his left wrist. The free end rested on the floor, and they could see bits of blood and skin embedded on the empty cuff, clearly ripped from the deep abrasions on his right wrist.

Kirk's eyes were what grabbed McCoy's attention, however. They were partially swollen shut by the bruises that colored most of his face, but beneath the lids his eyes were dull and flat – absent of the life that normally sparkled in them. "Jim?" McCoy called softly, taking a single step forward.

Kirk looked around the bridge, glancing at Spock for a moment before resting his gaze on McCoy. "Huh," he croaked, voice flat and toneless. "It worked."

Then his eyes rolled up into his head as his knees buckled. McCoy lurched forward and managed to move behind the captain before Kirk's unconscious body collided with him. They landed in an awkward heap, Kirk's upper body in the CMO's lap, his head tucked against McCoy's neck. McCoy cringed at the heat radiating from Kirk's skin, and he glanced up. "Get me the med team, _now_!" he barked, sending the crew into a flurry of motion.

McCoy focused his attention back on the figure slumped limply against him. Kirk's breathing was shallow and wheezy, and when the doctor lightly skimmed the captain's ribs, he could easily feel two move beneath his hands. Dried blood flaked off Kirk's hair and forehead onto McCoy's shoulder, and fresh blood oozed from the gash along Kirk's hairline onto McCoy's neck.

"Damn it, Jim," McCoy murmured without venom, shifting slightly so that his chin rested lightly on top of Kirk's head. He wrapped one arm around the captain's shoulders and brought his free hand up to rest against Kirk's cheek, cursing under his breath when he felt how dry his friend's skin was despite his high fever.

He glanced up as Spock knelt next to them. "How is he?" the first officer asked quietly.

"Not good," McCoy admitted softly, tightening his grip on the younger man. "Not good at all."

-o-

It took six hours before McCoy could upgrade Kirk's status from "not good" to "hanging in there." Four days with the Romulans had wreaked a severe toll on the captain's body: six broken ribs, four cracked ones, lacerated spleen, bruised kidney, two compressed vertebrae, fractured ankles, broken hand, cracked jaw, missing fingernails, numerous lacerations and burns – and that wasn't even counting the infection raging through Kirk's body and sending his temperature dangerously high. It was remarkable that he'd even been able to stand, let alone escape from the Romulans' clutches.

But the physical injuries weren't McCoy's greatest cause of worry. Thanks to modern technology's medications and regenerators, Kirk would be off his feet for a week at most, and his temperature was only slightly elevated at the moment.

No, what worried the CMO was the captain's utter lack of neural activity. All the scans had indicated that while not quite in a coma, Kirk's brain was only performing enough to keep his body functioning.

It wasn't the first time McCoy had seen readings like this. During his training at the Academy, he'd treated a wounded soldier who'd been flown in from a battlefield over in the United States of Africa. The soldier hadn't been badly wounded, but the emotional trauma he encountered during the battle and the resulting post-traumatic stress disorder sent him into a coma that he'd never recovered from. As the head doctor had put it, the soldier had simply lost the will to live. McCoy had never forgotten what those readings looked like, and he'd hoped to never see them again.

Kirk's neural scans were nearly identical.

"You're not gonna do that, though," McCoy muttered, settling into a chair next to Kirk's bio-bed. "You hear me, Kid? You better not."

Kirk remained motionless on the bed, save for the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. The skin on his face was still vividly colored despite the reduction in swelling, and the fingers on his right hand had been individually wrapped to protect them until his fingernails grew back, but other than that he looked perfectly healthy. By all outward appearances, the captain was well on the way to recovery.

However, McCoy knew better than anyone that he wasn't. On any other mission, Kirk would've been awake two hours ago, demanding to be released from sickbay and struggling to escape, to the point where McCoy would've had to sedate him with a hypo to make him rest.

Now, though, Kirk was lying abnormally still with only the standard amount of painkillers and antibiotics coursing through his bloodstream. There'd been no need to sedate him at all – he'd only stirred when McCoy had started working on his compressed vertebrae, and even then he'd fallen back into unconsciousness before Chapel could get the sedatives ready.

McCoy leaned back in the chair, shoulder resting against the bed near Kirk's knee, as he scanned the readings on the bio-bed monitor. There'd been no change since he'd reported the captain's status to the rest of the senior officers an hour ago, and it made the doctor's shoulders slump a little more.

"Don't let those damn Romulans win this time, Kid," he murmured gruffly, crossing his arms. "Don't make me have done all this work for nothing."

-o-

Kirk's eyes finally opened a week later, and even then the action was far from reassuring.

It was one of the few times McCoy was distracted enough to not look over at Kirk's bio-bed every five minutes. Lieutenant Yento from the science division had developed a nasty reaction to a plant she'd been experimenting with, and the swelling was threatening to close her trachea. He'd just gotten the young woman stabilized when he heard Chapel gasp. "Doctor!"

McCoy's head shot up and turned to follow the nurse's gaze. His back straightened in surprise when he saw Kirk staring up at the ceiling, lying flat on his back and blinking languidly against the glare of the lights above him.

"Chapel, finish up here," McCoy ordered, thrusting the tricorder into her hands before striding over to Kirk's side.

"Hey, Jim," he greeted, relief flooding his voice as he looked at the readings. His eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the charts, and he looked down at the captain, who had yet to pull his gaze away from the sickbay ceiling.

The vacant stare made McCoy's stomach drop.

-o-

"Physically, he's fine," McCoy declared in the conference room a few hours later. "He doesn't even _need _to stay in sickbay. Mentally, though…" He trailed off with a weary sigh, rubbing at his stubbled face. "It's like he hasn't even woken up yet. His neural scans have barely changed from when he was unconscious."

Five faces stared back at him grimly. "So… what are we going to do?" Chekov asked, accent even thicker than normal.

Uhura lifted her chin, lips pressed into a determined line. "We're going to help him get better, that's what we'll do."

Sulu frowned, tapping his fingertips against the table. "What about Starfleet?"

"He's got a point – if anyone finds out about this, they're gonna toss the lad into the loony bin," Scott said with a grim nod. "Lock him up and toss the key."

"They wouldn't do that!" Chekov paused for a moment before adding softly, "Would they?"

McCoy scowled. "They wouldn't like it, but it wouldn't be the first time they've had to lock one of Starfleet's finest away. Even if it's their own damn fault he's like this."

"There is little point dwelling on the past," Spock declared firmly before Scott could start on a tirade against the Council. "We cannot change what has happened. We can no longer try to convince the Council to see the error of their ways. What we must focus on now is ensuring the captain regains complete health."

"Would it have made a difference?" Uhura asked quietly, dark eyes focused on McCoy. "If we had been able to go after him right away… would it have made a difference?"

McCoy stared at them all for a long moment; over the last few months, he'd forgotten just how incredibly _young _most of them were. "I don't know. Being captured by Romulans is far from a picnic, but Jim's made of tougher stuff than that. Y'all know that as well as I do – he's proved that time and again already. It would take more than physical torture to make him shut down this bad."

"Then why? Why's he like this?" Sulu asked.

McCoy snorted humorlessly as he folded his arms. "If I knew that, I'd be able to fix him."

-o-

The next few days were about as close to Hell as McCoy had ever been. Despite numerous tests, visits from a few crew members, and various attempts to get some kind of response out of him, Kirk stayed silent, moving only when directed and staring vacantly past everything that was put in front of his eyes.

It was completely unnerving. McCoy had associated Kirk with action and movement from the moment he'd first met him on that shuttle years ago. Kirk was never still and rarely silent – not even in sleep, as McCoy had found out when they'd shared a room during their second year at the Academy. Kirk had tossed and turned so much that they'd had to pull his bed away from the wall so he would stop kicking it in his sleep.  
And he was no better awake, either. He was constantly tapping a foot, drumming his fingers on any available service, or chatting with someone. His eyes were always darting around, especially in new places. He had a passion for learning new things, and any time they beamed down to a new planet, Kirk always looked like a kid in a candy shop with his wide eyes that greedily looked at everything they could.

But now… now Kirk moved like an automaton, eating whatever was placed directly in front of him and moving only when physically directed. When left to himself, he stared off into space or picked at the loose threads of whatever clothes he was wearing at the moment. He hadn't spoken once since he collapsed on the bridge.

McCoy had never been one to ask for advice – especially for anything medical – but he'd only held out for a day before sending messages out to some of the best-known psychiatrists in Starfleet, asking for opinions and ideas on how to treat Kirk.

The responses he got were far from encouraging. Most used large words and superfluous sentences to say, "I don't know – I've never seen anything like this." A few suggested various tests McCoy could perform – all tests McCoy had tried already, to no avail. There were also several responses encouraging him to admit Kirk into the psych ward back at Starfleet Medical. Those McCoy flat-out ignored.

The response from William Higgins, one of the head psychiatrists at Medical, was the only thing that gave him some semblance of hope. "The human mind is incredibly complex – something which we've studied for centuries but haven't even come close to understanding," he'd said in his recording. "The possibilities for treatment of such a condition are limited only by the ideas _you_can come up with. Perhaps the solution to your problem lies not within Captain Kirk's mind, but within your own."

So when Chekov started dropping by during his off hours to visit the captain, when Spock dropped by to debrief McCoy regarding the proceedings between the Federation and the Romulans next to Kirk's bio-bed, and when Sulu asked if he could try reading a book filled with Kirk's favorite Terran poetry, McCoy didn't object.

Part of him hoped that maybe – just maybe – Kirk would respond to his crew like he hadn't to anything else. And as the hours dragged by with no sign of change, McCoy found himself clinging resolutely to that hope.

This was James T. Kirk, after all. He never ignored his crew.

-o-

"It's the worst case of PTSD I've ever seen," Chapel said quietly to McCoy the third morning after Kirk had awakened. They watched as Scott talked to the captain animatedly, adding enthusiastic hand motions to emphasize whatever story he was telling. Kirk's bio-bed had been raised so that the captain was sitting up. He appeared completely oblivious to the engineer as he dragged a bandaged finger over a spot on his sweatpants just above the knee.

McCoy nodded wearily as he sipped at the lukewarm cup of coffee he'd brewed an hour before. "I've tried everything I can think of, but I'm a doctor, not a psychiatrist." He sighed and rubbed at his gritty eyes. "There's only so much I can do."

"It took him several days to wake up," Chapel pointed out slowly. "Much longer than it should have."

"So?"

"So maybe his mind's just taking its time to catch up with the rest of him." Chapel pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Doctor… maybe we should send Captain Kirk to Starfleet Medical until he recovers."

McCoy shot her an acidic glare. "What, so they can pump him full of medications and keep him locked up in a nice cozy room?" He sighed wearily. "I can't do that to him. We'll find something."

Chapel stared at him for a long moment. It was an unnerving stare – McCoy felt as though he were being x-rayed. "If Lieutenant Sulu was on that bed instead, would you say the same thing?"

McCoy's eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell're you talkin' about?"

"If it were anyone else, would you have them sent to Starfleet Medical for further treatment?" Chapel asked seriously.

The flimsy cup buckled in his grip. "Do you think I _enjoy _seein' him sit there like he's some kind of machine that's just waitin' to be turned on?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.

Chapel's chin lifted a little. "No. I _do _think you'd rather see him there instead of sending him off for the treatment he needs."

McCoy snorted. "There's no one else who can help him," he muttered darkly, taking another long draw of the bitter coffee as he thought of all of the messages he'd received.

"Is that what you really think? That he's better off trying to recover from severe mental trauma on a starship? Or are you doing this because he's your friend and you don't want to see him go?"

"I'm doing this, Nurse Chapel," McCoy growled, "because not only is he Jim Kirk, my best friend, but he's also James T. Kirk, captain of the USS _Enterprise_. He's still on this ship because he cares more about her and her crew than his own damn life, and if there's _anything _in this whole goddamn universe that can pull him out of this, it's _this ship_!"

The entire sickbay had fallen silent by the end of McCoy's mini-rant – save for Scott, who was still enthusiastically telling his story to an unresponsive Kirk, neither one acting as if they'd heard McCoy. The CMO's gaze dropped to the floor as he took another drink of coffee, silently wishing he'd added some bourbon to it.

"The ship's not the only thing that'll help him, Doctor," Chapel said finally, laying a hand on his elbow. "He's got you." She smiled faintly when the older man glanced at her. "And you've got us. We'll find a way."

McCoy nodded once but didn't speak. He drained the last of his coffee and tossed the empty cup in the trash as he walked over to Scott and Kirk.

"…an' at this point I'm about as dizzy as a dodo, but I says to him, 'Wilson, I betcha a bottle of whiskey I can take you down in ten seconds flat.'" Scott grinned at the captain. "Och, and let me tell you, laddie, this fella must've been part Klingon."

"Why? Was he big?" McCoy asked as he examined the readings on the bio-bed.

Scott glanced up at the doctor, the grin on his face not quite reaching his eyes. "Nope, but he smelled somethin' awful!"

McCoy's lips twitched a little as he glanced at Kirk. His eyes widened when he realized Kirk was staring back _at _him, a dark, haunted look in his vivid blue eyes. Before McCoy could say anything, Kirk blinked and the vacant stare was back as if it had never changed.

"Doc?"

McCoy didn't pull his gaze away from Kirk's face. "Yeah, I saw it, too," he murmured quietly in response to Scott's unasked question. Kirk took no notice of either of them as he started rubbing a finger over the seam of his sweatshirt. "He's still in there. Somewhere."

Scott sighed, shoulders slumping forward as he watched the younger man. "What happened to you, Cap'n?" he asked so softly that McCoy almost didn't hear him. "Why won't you talk to us?"

The answering silence was even more depressing than the question.

-o-

_He was standing on the recreational courts back on Wertus I. There was no sign of anyone else in the area, but a movement at the bottom of his eye caught his attention. The volleyball rolled to a stop at his feet. When he looked up again, all he could see was white._

_"Bones."_

_His eyes widened as he spun around, trying to see where the cry had come from. _"Jim?"_ The call echoed back to him, mixing in with his friend's distant voice._

_"Why can't you hear me?"_

_The whiteness was disorienting, and he stumbled a little as he took a few steps forward. _"Jim? Jim! Where are you?"

_"I've been screaming this whole time, Bones. Why won't you help me?"_

"I'm trying!"_ His feet caught on some unseen object, and he tumbled to his hands and knees. Kirk's voice echoed around him, but he couldn't see anything besides the damn volleyball. _"I'm trying,"_ he repeated in a broken whisper, lowering his head down to try and drown out the words._

_"Don't leave me alone, Bones. Please. Can't you hear me scream?"_

-o-

McCoy gasped and his head shot up off the desk, the moisture on his cheeks causing his PADD to stick to his skin momentarily before falling back with a clatter as Kirk's voice continued to whisper in his mind.

_Can't you hear me scream?_

He rubbed his face, glancing at the chronometer and scowling when he saw that he'd slept through the end of Gamma shift and the first half of Delta. "Damn it," he whispered wearily, rolling his shoulders and massaging his neck with a hand.

He stood and stretched before stepping through his office door into the darkened sickbay. "Lights, forty percent," he ordered. As the room brightened slightly, he sighed when he saw the sickbay's lone occupant. There'd been no serious injuries or incidents since Lieutenant Yento's visit, which meant that the for last four nights, Kirk had been the only patient in sickbay.

McCoy grabbed a chair and dragged it over to Kirk's bio-bed. The younger man was sleeping on his side, the bandaged fingers on his right hand curled up loosely near his face. McCoy swallowed hard at the sight; Joanna used to sleep in the same position when she was younger.

_Why won't you help me?_

"I'm trying, Jim," McCoy whispered, sliding the chair over so that when he sat down, he was near Kirk's head. His shoulders curved forward with exhaustion and despair as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bio-bed. "I'm trying so damn hard."

_Don't leave me alone, Bones. Please._

"I won't," McCoy promised softly. He glanced up as Kirk sighed in his sleep. The captain's face was completely slack; his eyes didn't even move beneath their lids.

McCoy lowered his head back down to the bed. "But you can't leave, either."


	2. Say if it's too late for me

_**A/N: **__Notes, disclaimers, etc. in Part I._

* * *

**Doctor My Eyes**

_**Part II: Say if it's too late for me  
**__"Doctor, my eyes-tell me what you see.  
__I hear their cries; just say if it's too late for me."  
__-Jackson Browne, "Doctor My Eyes"_

McCoy was poring over several psychology articles in his office when he heard the door slide open. "Something I can do for you, Scotty?" he asked, leaning back in his chair as Scott entered the office.

"Look, Doc… I've been thinking," the engineer said, sitting in a chair on the other side of McCoy's desk. "Have _you _actually tried talking to the cap'n?"  
McCoy's eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell kind of question is that?" he demanded, setting his PADD aside. "Of course I've talked to him!"

"No, I mean actually _talked _to him," Scott replied earnestly. "Like what some of us have done."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Scott leaned forward in his seat. "The only time Kirk's ever shown any type of reaction was after your little… discussion with Nurse Chapel yesterday," he explained. "I think he heard you, Doc. Somethin' you said got through to him."

McCoy shifted uneasily in his chair. "I don't know—"

"Look, I know it's not fun to sit there and try to talk to him when he's like this," Scott cut in. "Hell, it's about as fun as pullin' teeth—I know that first hand. But this isn't about us, Doc."

McCoy wasn't sure if he'd ever seen the engineer so serious before. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "I… I'll give it a shot," he promised.

Scott nodded as he stood. "That's all I want," he replied. He smirked a little. "It's time to get that kid back in his chair. Spock's good, but he's just not as entertainin'."

-o-

It was the middle of Gamma shift before McCoy finally worked up the courage to sit in the chair that seemed to permanently sit by Kirk's bio-bed. Chapel was the only one on duty, and she stayed over at her desk on the other side of sickbay, leaving the pair in relative isolation.

"Hey, Jim," he greeted quietly, sitting in the chair. He sighed internally as Kirk's gaze remained focused on his own hands.

"You'd think with all of the medical technology we've got on this floating tin can, we'd be able to make your fingernails grow back," McCoy said, gesturing at the bandages still wrapped around the captain's fingertips. The younger man gave no indication of being able to hear the doctor.

It was completely unnerving to talk to Kirk and get absolutely no reaction. Any other time, McCoy would've walked away and plunged back into his research in an effort to avoid the awkwardness of this situation. In that aspect, he was fine with other people trying to coax a reaction out of Kirk and failing; it was easier than trying it himself and realizing how utterly helpless he was when he failed.

He would've walked away this time, too, if he hadn't decided at that exact moment to look over at Chapel's desk. The blond stared back at him with a small smile on her face, eyes full of encouragement, before she looked back down at her own work.

_He's got you._

McCoy sighed a little, but slouched back in the chair and folded his arms. "My reports are incomplete, y' know," he growled with only a little annoyance. "I can't finish them until we catalog the causes of all of those injuries. You know as well as I do how the higher-ups get when it comes to paperwork—I doubt they'll be satisfied if I just put 'Romulan bastards' as the cause."

If he hadn't been watching Kirk's body language carefully, he would've missed the slight clench of the captain's fingers. The CMO's shoulders tensed, and he sat up straighter in his seat. "Jim?"

After a moment, Kirk's fingers relaxed again. McCoy felt his shoulders slump as he sat back in the chair. He thought he'd had something there for a moment.

_Why won't you help me?_

"I'm still trying, Kid," he murmured. "Don't give up on me yet."

-o-

"Doctor, I am here to offer my services."

McCoy glanced up from the PADD he was reviewing to look at the Vulcan. "What?"

Spock's eyes darted over to Kirk's bio-bed, where Sulu was reading the captain more poetry, before looking back at the CMO. "As a Vulcan, I know of certain techniques that can be used to probe a subject's mind."

McCoy blinked a couple times before Spock's statement registered. "You want to do a mind meld? On Jim?" When Spock nodded once, he exclaimed, "Are you out of _your _mind? Don't you know what that could _do_?"

"At this point in time, the advantages of trying to see what has caused the captain to enter this state far outweigh the disadvantages of entering his mind without prior consent. As you know, Captain Kirk has endured a previous mind meld without a full understanding of what he was submitting to, and the negative results were minimal."

"Damn it, Spock, I'm not talking about what it could do to _Jim_," McCoy said exasperatedly. "I'm talking about what it could do to _you_."

Spock's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "If there is no other way to help Captain Kirk regain complete mental awareness—"

"This isn't the way to do it," McCoy interjected. "The transference works both ways—you know that. What's to stop whatever happened to Jim from happening to you?"

"I am well aware of the risks, Doctor," Spock replied quietly. "There is a sixty-point-four percent chance that the meld will achieve the desired results, and an eight-point-nine percent chance nothing will result."

"Which means there's a thirty-point-seven percent chance of something going wrong," McCoy finished, folding his arms. "It's too risky, Spock. If something goes wrong, then I'll have two catatonic officers on my hands, and that's two more than I want to deal with. I won't allow it, and I know Jim wouldn't, either."

Spock tilted his head. "Before Jim managed his own escape, you told me he would have willingly crossed the Neutral Zone were I in his place. Do you not think this is a similar situation? Is this not a risk he would take?"

"Yes and no," McCoy answered. An exasperated smile tugged at his lips as he said, "Jim's a walking contradiction. He'll do what he can to help people, even if it puts himself in danger. But if the roles are reversed, he gets pissed off."

Spock's chin lifted. "I have noticed that the captain often puts his own well-being far behind that of others."

McCoy nodded. "It's a habit he's not going to break anytime soon. And I know for a fact he'd agree with me on this—it's too dangerous to try a mind meld."

"But if there are no alternative solutions-"

"We haven't run out of options yet, Spock," McCoy cut in. He sighed as he rubbed his neck. "We just have to keep looking. There's gotta be _something _out there we missed."

-o-

"I don't know what to do, sir," McCoy confessed two days later.

Christopher Pike stared back at him from the small viewscreen in McCoy's office, eyes troubled. "His condition hasn't changed at all?"

McCoy shook his head wearily. "His neural scans have only jumped for a brief moment, when he actually looked at me. But other than that… nothing."

Pike sighed as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That explains Westervliet's little tirade," he muttered.

"Sir?"

Pike opened his eyes and studied the CMO for a moment. "How much do you know about Jim's current contract with Starfleet?"

McCoy blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. "Not all that much, honestly, other than that he's supposed to captain the _Enterprise _for the five-year mission. I'd assume that he'd be up for promotion after it's over."

"Unfortunately it's a lot more complicated than that," Pike answered grimly. "Many of the admiralty felt that Jim's actions during the _Narada _incident vouched for his ability to captain a starship, despite his age. But those who didn't were quite outspoken against the decision to make Jim captain of the _Enterprise_."

"Why?" McCoy demanded. "Why would _anyone _think Jim is less than capable?"

"I don't think they questioned _his _capability," Pike said. "I think they questioned _theirs_. If there's one thing they hate, it's a captain who goes against the rules."

"They were worried Jim wouldn't listen to them when it counted," McCoy said, chin lifting.

Pike nodded. "You know better than anyone that Jim doesn't do things by the book. Many people on the Council realized it, too. They refused to give their approval unless there was a clause in Jim's contract that required a full Council review if an occasion were ever to arise in his first three years as captain that caused serious doubt about his capability of commanding the _Enterprise_."

"And Jim actually let that _happen_?"

"He was the one that came up with the compromise," Pike replied. He chuckled a little when he saw the incredulous look on McCoy's face. "It was a bold move on his part. He flat-out told the Council that it didn't matter whether or not they put the clause in his contract because he would never need it."

"He still doesn't," McCoy said. "He'll still be capable if he has time to recover."

Pike raised an eyebrow. "Not everyone feels the same way. I assume you've heard that the Starfleet higher-ups want to have Jim checked into Medical on paid leave?"

McCoy scowled. "Yeah, Spock told me. All due respect, sir, but that's the _last _thing he needs right now," he spat. "Especially if all they want to do is say he's incompetent so they can get rid of him."

"I agree."

McCoy blinked in surprise. "You do?"

Pike nodded. "I do. There're too many people down here that are just itching to see Jim Kirk fail," he answered with just a hint of animosity in his voice. His expression softened as he added, "Besides, Jim's in capable hands right where he is. In all my years at Starfleet, you're the best damn doctor I've ever met—mostly because you're too stubborn to know when to quit."

"For all the good it does me," McCoy griped, flushing a little at the praise. "I'm no closer to figuring out how to help Jim now than I was a week ago."

"Keep him onboard the _Enterprise_," Pike ordered. "We both know it'll do him no good to be institutionalized."

"What about the higher-ups?"

Pike smirked. "You just let Spock and I handle that. We'll keep them off your back until Jim's recovered."

McCoy chewed his lip. "What if… what if he doesn't?"

And there it was—the awful possibility that maybe, just _maybe_, Kirk wouldn't bounce back from this setback at all. It sounded just as painful spoken aloud as it did inside McCoy's head.

Pike's smirk faded into a small smile. "He will," he replied, voice full of a confidence his eyes didn't quite have. "It might take awhile, but Jim's always done things in his own time."

-o-

Spock was the one to suggest moving Kirk out of sickbay the next morning. "After all, the captain has always had an aversion to the sickbay," he pointed out over breakfast. "Perhaps he will respond better to treatment in a more suitable location."

"He shouldn't be alone, though," McCoy protested.

Spock's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Discharging him from sickbay does not mean he needs to be unsupervised."

Two hours later, McCoy punched in the code for his room as he glanced over his shoulder. "You and me sharin' a room again. Just like old times, right?"  
Kirk remained silent, shoulders ramrod straight as he gripped a duffel bag in his left hand and stared at the wall.

McCoy sighed as the door slid open. "Right," he muttered wearily, stepping through the doorway. "You can just set your stuff there," he added, waving haphazardly at the cot he'd asked Chekov to bring in earlier. He reached for a PADD on his desk. He tried not to let the despair gnawing at his insides consume him completely, but it was getting harder and harder to do. After all, it'd been almost three weeks since Kirk returned to the ship; McCoy was starting to wonder if his friend really came back at all.

"Bones."

The PADD dropped to the floor as McCoy whirled around when he heard the whisper. "Jim?"

Kirk wasn't looking at the CMO, though—his eyes were glued to the desk. McCoy followed his gaze and tensed. He'd forgotten about the dusty volleyball he'd placed on his desk the first night after the attack on Wertus I. He hadn't even realized he'd brought it back onboard the _Enterprise _until Scott had commented on it after he'd arrived in the transporter room.

He watched as Kirk dropped his duffle bag onto the cot and reached out to grab the volleyball. Dust drifted down onto the desk as he held it in his hand. His eyes were dark as he stared at the ball for a moment before tossing it into the air and bumping it gently with his fist. His lips started moving. McCoy had to move in closer in order to hear the soft murmurs.

"Be fine, Bones. I'll be fine. Bones…"

McCoy swallowed as Kirk bumped the ball once more. Instead of catching it, he let it drop to the floor. It landed and bounced a couple of times before rolling under the cot.

The CMO moved so he could look Kirk directly in the face, even though Kirk's eyes were still watching the spot where the ball had disappeared under the bed. "Jim? Jim, can you hear me?" he called, placing his hands lightly on Kirk's shoulders.

Then Kirk looked at him—actually _looked _at him—and the whirlwind of emotions—hurt, anger, pain, _fear_—swirling in his eyes was enough to make McCoy's grip tighten instinctively. "Jim?"

Kirk blinked twice and as suddenly as they had appeared the emotions were gone, leaving the all-too-familiar blank stare behind. McCoy let his arms drop as Kirk silently sat on the cot and started picking at a loose thread on the pillowcase.

_Can't you hear me scream?_

"Yeah, Kid," McCoy murmured softly. "I think I just did."

-o-

Later that night, McCoy was lying on his own bed, trying to force himself to sleep for a few hours. He could hear Kirk breathing softly as he slept, and he figured if he focused hard enough, he could make himself believe they were back in the room they shared at the Academy—even if Kirk had always snored, tossed and turned, and muttered occasionally instead of lying perfectly still like he was now. With enough concentration, McCoy could believe he had a clinical in the morning but was more worried about Kirk waking up at some ungodly hour to go jog or do whatever he did before sunrise—

The first faint whimper had him surging up and out of bed.

"Lights, thirty percent," he ordered softly, moving over to Kirk's cot.

In the soft light, McCoy could see the occasional twitch of Kirk's fingers and the rapid movement of his eyes underneath their lids as the younger man whimpered again. He could also see a thin trail of saline trailing across Kirk's cheek before dripping off his nose. "Jim," he whispered, laying a hand on Kirk's shoulder.

Kirk's eyes popped open with a wet gasp, and McCoy's grip on Kirk's shoulder tightened at the swirl of emotions he saw in the younger man's eyes. "Hey, hey, you're okay," he murmured softly, bringing his other hand to clasp Kirk's neck firmly. "You're okay."

He watched as Kirk continued to stare at him for a long moment, shoulders heaving as he panted for air. "You wanna talk about it?" McCoy asked, loosening his grip as the panic etched on Kirk's face began to fade.

Kirk stared at him for another moment before shaking his head once. He jerked out of McCoy's grasp, rolling over so his back was to the older man before curling in on himself.

McCoy huffed in frustration. "Jim," he began, reaching out to touch Kirk's shoulder again. Kirk flinched away from the contact and McCoy quickly drew his hand back, swallowing hard at the reaction.

He stayed on the edge of the cot for a few minutes longer before standing with a sigh. He tugged the blanket from where it had landed on the floor up and over Kirk's shoulders. "Damn it, Jim," he murmured quietly as he moved back to his own bed.

Neither one went back to sleep.

-o-

Despite Kirk's behavior the night before, he was just as unresponsive the next morning, prompting McCoy to order another series of scans on Kirk's brain to see if there had been any changes.

"It looks like his mind is starting to become more aware of his surroundings, but it's almost as if he doesn't want that to happen," McCoy told the other senior officers later that day, rubbing his forehead with a weary sigh.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"There's a definite increase in neural activity," McCoy replied. "It's still not as high as it should be, but it's higher than it was before."

The corner of Spock's mouth turned down a little in thought. "Perhaps now would be an opportune moment to perform a mind meld," he suggested.

"It's still too risky, Spock. For both you and Jim," McCoy answered with a shake of his head."His mind might be too unstable for something of that nature—it might force him to face the memories that made him act like this before he's ready. The potential backlash from that could be devastating to both of you."

Scott folded his arms. "So what can we do?"

McCoy's lips twisted into a bitter smirk. "You tell me. Hell, at this point, I'm ready to try just about anything."

"You said the captain showed an increase awareness of his surroundings when he held the volleyball you retrieved from Wertus I, correct?" Spock asked. When McCoy nodded, he continued, "It seems that the captain has formed strong emotional ties with that object, possibly because of the circumstances surrounding him the last time he viewed the ball. This tie appears to be strong enough to have momentarily pulled him out of his comatose state, as well as to have stimulated the part of the brain that constructs dreams."

"Your point?" McCoy asked.

"Perhaps the key to restoring Jim's mind is to have him interact with those objects to which he has strong emotional ties," Spock replied.

McCoy and Scott both tilted their heads in thought. "You have something particular in mind?" McCoy inquired.

Spock nodded once. "I have observed that Captain Kirk has a strong sense of duty as well as a great deal of affection for his ship and crew. Thus, it is only logical to assume that he has a strong emotional connection with the bridge, as that is where he spends the majority of his time. Perhaps the sight of the bridge will be enough to reawaken Jim's sense of duty to the _Enterprise_ and its crew."

"Aye, that just might work," Scott agreed, tapping his chin with a finger. "The lad loves this ship nearly as much as I do, and that's sayin' somethin'."  
McCoy shrugged. "It's worth a shot," he declared, mouth set in a grim line as he looked at them. "If he doesn't snap out of this soon, I'm worried that he never will."

-o-

McCoy waited until Beta shift to take Kirk up to the bridge. Spock had scheduled most of the primary bridge crew to work that shift, and they both figured it might help if Kirk saw some familiar faces on the bridge.

"Good to know your ankles are fully healed, anyway," McCoy declared as they walked toward the turbo lift. He had to slow his strides to keep from getting too far ahead of the younger man, who was moving much slower than normal. The CMO felt his lips curl in a small smile as he saw Kirk actually _looking _around the hallway. Kirk's eyes were filled with a look that wasn't quite awareness but wasn't quite the lifeless emotion he'd had for the past few weeks.

"Don't know why I didn't think of this earlier," McCoy said as they stepped into the lift. "You're practically in a relationship with that chair." Kirk didn't respond; he kept his eyes focused at a spot on the floor. McCoy just barely resisted the urge to sigh.

He heard raised voices as soon as the lift doors slid open and was more than a little surprised to hear Spock's voice among them. "…assure you Dr. McCoy is doing everything possible for him," the Vulcan said as McCoy loosely gripped Kirk's elbow and escorted him onto the bridge.

The CMO's eyes narrowed when he saw Spock standing in front of the captain's chair, hands clenched in fists behind his back to hide them from the man on the viewscreen. Uhura's eyes were dark with anger as she looked at McCoy.

McCoy's lips thinned into a tight line when he saw the look on her face. "Keep an eye on him," he murmured to Uhura, nudging Kirk in her direction.

The younger woman nodded, grasping Kirk's elbow lightly and standing with him behind and to the left of the captain's chair.

"Is there something you need to discuss with me, sir?" McCoy asked the man onscreen—an admiral, judging by the bars visible on his uniform, but not one that McCoy recognized—as he stepped up next to Spock.

"Jim Kirk!" the admiral exclaimed, a hint of a sneer curling his thin lips as his dark eyes locked on Kirk. Kirk lifted his head slightly but made no sign of acknowledgment as he looked at the viewscreen without seeing anything. "And here I thought you'd become a ghost."

"Admiral Westervliet has expressed concern that our treatment of Captain Kirk is insufficient for his needs," Spock informed McCoy, raising an eyebrow slightly as he said the admiral's name.

McCoy scowled, shifting his stance so he was standing in front of Kirk as he stared at the screen and into the face of someone who wanted to strip Kirk of his rank—someone who was _supposed_ to be on their side. "I've consulted with some of the finest psychiatrists in Starfleet," he declared. "Sir," he spat out as an afterthought.

Westervliet's eyes narrowed. "I am aware of your correspondences, McCoy," he replied. "I'm also aware you've rejected the majority of the advice you've received. You've been repeatedly requested to release Kirk into the care of the psychiatrists at Medical."

"All due respect, sir, but the majority of the people I talked to said they didn't have a clue how to treat him," McCoy shot back.

"And you think you do," the admiral said, raising an eyebrow.

"It can't hurt to keep him in a familiar environment," McCoy replied, fists clenching by his sides. "Sir."

Westervliet's gaze shifted from the CMO to the captain. "It can if it prevents proper procedure from being followed," he answered grimly.

The air was thick with tension on the bridge. "What are you suggesting, sir?" Sulu asked coolly from his position at the helm.

The admiral's lips thinned as he continued to stare at Kirk, who was now staring blankly at the wall behind Uhura's head. "I am suggesting that Captain Kirk be relieved from his duties. Permanently."

"You son of a bitch!" McCoy exploded. "All you want to do is boot Jim out so you can replace him with someone who'll act like a good little Starfleet captain and follow every order you give him!"

"Control yourself, _Doctor_, before I write you up for insubordination," Westervliet sneered, dark eyes flashing with anger.

Spock took a step forward. "Sir, the captain is still recovering from a severe emotional trauma—"

Westervliet snorted and rolled his eyes. "Please. The man's sitting less than a meter away from you and doesn't even know we're talking about him. From what I can see, he's not recovering. Previous captains have suffered through a lot worse for a lot longer, and they've all turned out fine," he replied.

"Yeah, with _years _of therapy," McCoy answered sharply. "Jim hasn't even been back for a month! Good god, man, are you that eager to toss someone's career in the toilet?"

"Your _captain_," Westervliet replied with a sneer, "has shown absolutely no signs of improvement since his return—most unusual for someone believed to have remarkable bravery and intelligence, is it not?"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" McCoy demanded.

Westervliet smirked. "Perhaps Kirk isn't the captain material you believe him to be."

"Since his appointment as captain, Jim has never presented himself as anything less than capable of fulfilling his duties," Spock replied, eyes flashing darkly as his brows furrowed slightly.

"Does _this _sound like a capable captain to you, Commander?" Westervliet asked, punching a command into something offscreen.

Kirk's panicked voice filtered through the speakers a moment later. "_Kirk to _Enterprise_!_ _Send reinforcements now! Rom_—_"_

"Captain!"

McCoy whirled around when he heard Uhura's startled shout. His eyes widened when he saw Kirk standing stiff as a board, body shaking with fine tremors as he stared straight ahead without actually staring at anything. His eyes were swirling with emotions again.

"Jim!" McCoy called, rushing toward his friend and grasping Kirk's shoulder.

The next thing McCoy knew, he was flat on his back, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling and wondering just how he'd ended up on the floor. He turned his head slightly and saw Chekov and Sulu trying to restrain Kirk, who was struggling violently in their grasp in an effort to get to the turbo lift.

Then his view was blocked by a wall of red, and he looked up to see Uhura kneeling over him, worry in her eyes as she gently pressed a piece of fabric against the CMO's nose. It was then he realized blood was streaming in copious amounts from his nostrils, seeping into his mouth and trailing down his chin and neck. "Wha' hit me?" he asked in confusion.

Uhura's eyes darkened as she glanced over at the struggling trio. Spock stepped over a moment later and gently squeezed Kirk's shoulder. The distraught captain went limp, but Sulu and Chekov managed to catch him before he could hit the ground.

McCoy blinked a couple times. "Jim?"

Uhura nodded once, voice light but face troubled when she replied, "I've never seen him move that fast."

McCoy frowned. "Contact sickbay and have the nurse on duty bring up a gurney," he declared, grabbing at the cloth Uhura still held. The lieutenant nodded again and got up to return to her station.

With a groan, McCoy rolled over and got to his feet, swaying slightly but managing to stay upright. "The _hell _was that?" he demanded, glaring at Westervliet as best as he could as he tipped his head back to try and slow the bleeding. He grimaced as more blood flowed into his mouth but resisted the urge to spit.

"You're the doctor," Westervliet replied with a sneer. "You tell me."

"I'm not talkin' about Jim," McCoy snarled. "What the _hell _were _you _thinking, playing that transmission? Especially when Jim's within earshot of the damn thing! He's not ready for that kind of emotional reminder yet!"

"Watch your tone, _Doctor_," the admiral said, narrowing his eyes. "You're walking on thin ice right now."

Spock straightened and strode forward. "It is apparent that Jim will not benefit from any kind of treatment _you _would recommend, sir," he declared tersely. "We will continue to handle the situation as Dr. McCoy recommends. And you can rest assured that Admiral Pike will be informed of this incident. Good day," he finished, terminating the communication before Westervliet could reply.

There was a moment of silence on the bridge. "Damn, Spock," McCoy said, eyebrows raised. "I think Jim's really starting to rub off on you."

Spock sent him a look, but had no chance to reply as the turbo lift doors suddenly slid open. Chapel stepped off a moment later, pausing mid-step at the sight in front of her. "What happened?" she demanded, eyes flicking from Kirk, who was slumped between Sulu and Chekov, to McCoy, whose nose was still streaming blood.

McCoy's lips twisted a little as he adjusted the pressure on his nose and gestured toward the unconscious captain. "We got a reaction out of him."

-o-

That night, McCoy awoke with a start once more. At first, he thought it was because of his nose; he'd fixed it up right away, but it was throbbing, and the taste of blood was still on his tongue despite the fact that he'd eaten and brushed his teeth—several times, in fact.

Then Kirk muttered something and moaned quietly, and any discomfort McCoy felt from his recently fixed up nose was immediately forgotten.

"Jim?" McCoy called as he slid out of bed and moved to Kirk's cot once again. "Jim, wake up!"

Kirk twisted on the small cot, back arching and hands clawing at the sheets as he groaned and murmured, "No, please, don't, please, you've got to _run_..."

McCoy swallowed hard as he reached out to grasp Kirk's shoulder. "Jim!"

Kirk's eyes flew open and he shot up on the cot, his head nearly colliding with McCoy's. He gasped for air as he rolled over and tried to scramble away, voice cracking as he frantically babbled, "No, don't, no, no _don't_—"

"Jim, _Jim_, calm down!" McCoy barked, latching on to Kirk's arms and pulling him back to the cot. "Look at me. Jim, _look at me_!"

He forcibly twisted Kirk's torso and grabbed his chin with a hand. Kirk froze, eyes wide as he stared at McCoy in the dim light. Fear radiated from his tense body in waves, and McCoy's voice instinctively softened as he pleaded, "Stay _with _me this time, Jim. I'm trying to help, but you gotta let me help you, okay? Please, just stay _with_—"

He gasped in surprise as Kirk suddenly lunged forward, and it took a moment before he realized that Kirk was clinging to him, arms wrapped around McCoy's ribs tight enough to leave bruises as he buried his face in the CMO's shoulder. McCoy's arms came up automatically, one wrapping firmly around Kirk's back and the other sliding up to grasp the back of the younger man's neck. It'd been awhile since he'd had to rock Joanna to sleep after a nightmare, but the process came back instinctively as he started rocking a little, murmuring, "Hey, hey, now, it's alright, Kid. It'll be alright."

"Eight hundred people, Bones," Kirk choked out, twisting his head a little so he could breathe. "We were only gone thirty minutes, and they were all dead. They were just shooting the last of them when I beamed down…"

_Of course_, McCoy cursed mentally as he tightened his grip on Kirk. He could almost smell the blood in the air again as he recalled the mounds of bodies lining the street, the faces of those he'd tried to save flashing through his mind. He'd _seen _the horror first-hand, smelled the death, had nightmare visions of it in the days following the attack. And he _knew _how badly Kirk reacted to a death of someone under his protection—he'd unfortunately had a few chances to see those reactions first hand after a couple of missions gone wrong.

But even with all of that background knowledge, he'd never once thought about the possibility that the sight of eight hundred people dying at one time would traumatize Kirk more than four days of torture at the hands of Romulans ever could.

_I've been screaming this whole time._

"I'm sorry," McCoy whispered, resting his chin on Kirk's head and squeezing his eyes shut. "God, Jim, I'm so sorry."


	3. Damaged at best

_**A/N: **__Notes, disclaimer, etc. in Part I._

**Doctor My Eyes**

_**Part III: Damaged at Best  
**__"And I am here still waiting,  
__Though I still have my doubts.  
__I am damaged at best,  
__Like you've already figured out."  
__-Lifehouse, "Broken"_

"Physically, you're healthy as a horse," McCoy declared the next morning as he packed up his tricorder. He glanced over his shoulder as Kirk pulled on his black undershirt, legs swinging from his perch on the edge of the bed in the captain's quarters.

"But Doctor, will I ever play the piano again?" Kirk quipped as he tugged the sleeves so that the ends reached his wrists.

McCoy rolled his eyes instinctively, even though Kirk's tone wasn't nearly as lighthearted as usual. "Not until your fingernails grow back, at least," the CMO replied, tugging off his gloves and disposing them. He turned around and stared at his friend, arms folded across his chest. "How are you?"

Kirk raised an eyebrow. "You just told me I was fine, Bones. You should know the answer to that."

"I know how you're doing physically," McCoy said. "But I need to know, Jim—how _are _you?"

There was a pause as Kirk picked up the gold shirt folded next to him. He rubbed the material with the still-bandaged fingers on his right hand as if truly feeling it for the first time. "Ask me in a week," he replied, keeping his gaze on the shirt in his hands.

McCoy frowned. "You know the higher-ups are going to be wanting to know _now_, Jim."

Kirk shrugged and looked up. The dark look in his eyes was disconcerting, but McCoy was more unsettled by how quickly Kirk managed to force that emotion down. "I know. But if you want to know the truth, then you'll want to wait a week."

The CMO tilted his head as he considered that response. It was more than a little unusual for Kirk to admit that he wasn't telling the truth about his condition to those around him in the first place; it was downright strange that he would admit to it _before _the fact. "And you're actually going to tell me?" he asked skeptically.

Kirk shrugged again as he stood up. "I'm not making any promises," he declared, pulling on his uniform shirt. "But I'll try."

McCoy considered that response for a moment. It wasn't ideal by any means, but at least Kirk was being relatively open with him. "Okay."

Kirk finished smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt and straightened. "Well?" he asked, raising his arms slightly.

A smile tugged at the corner of McCoy's mouth as he recalled Kirk asking him the same question the first time he pulled on his gold tunic after being given full command of the _Enterprise_. "I still think it makes you look like a pompous ass," he replied.

Kirk chuckled, and McCoy was pleased to see genuine humor on his friend's face. "Better than a pansy ass in blue," the captain shot back.

"'Pansy ass,' huh? I'll remember that when you're up for your next round of inoculations," McCoy drawled. His expression sobered a little. "It's good to have you back, Jim."

Kirk nodded once. "Thanks, Bones. For everything," he replied. "If you hadn't… I don't know…"

"Just do me a favor, Kid—next time you want to show me your right hook? Don't," McCoy interrupted wryly.

Kirk flushed a little with embarrassment, eyes darting to the fading bruises around McCoy's nose and eyes. "Yeah. Sorry about that—I didn't _mean _to do it. It just kind of… slipped out."

McCoy's eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected response. "You remember?"

Kirk's expression darkened. "Yeah. Some of it, anyway. It was surreal. Like I was dreaming or something," he replied. He huffed a sigh through his nose before smiling broadly. It didn't reach his eyes. "You wanna come watch the crew's reaction when I step on the bridge? I bet it'll be priceless."

Before McCoy could respond, Kirk clapped McCoy's shoulder briefly with his bandaged hand and then strode past him. McCoy frowned a little as he turned to follow his friend.

The young captain was awake, aware, and moving under his own steam; McCoy should've been ecstatic.

So why did he feel like Kirk was just as far away now as he had been lying motionless on the bed?

-o-

The deck housing the commanding officers' quarters was off-limits to most personnel, so they didn't pass anyone else on their way to the turbo lift. The short ride to the bridge was filled with an uncomfortable silence that McCoy wasn't quite sure how to handle—after all, he'd never _had_ uncomfortable silence with Kirk before. Kirk always said it was because of the fact that McCoy threw up on him within two hours of their first conversation; _nothing _could be more uncomfortable than that.

Except this, apparently. McCoy searched for something to say, some quip to break the tension—another extraordinary thing, since Kirk was usually the one to fill the silence. Within just a few short seconds, however, the door was sliding open once more and Kirk was moving again before McCoy could stop him.

"Mr. Spock! Where the hell are we?"

Every head on the bridge whipped around to look at the captain as he and McCoy stepped off the lift. Kirk's grin was infectious; within moments every officer was smiling, the relief at seeing their captain up and moving around again plain on their faces. Someone started clapping, and a second later everyone on the bridge was on their feet, the space echoing with thunderous applause as several people cheered. Chekov even whistled shrilly.

Kirk flushed a little at all the noise; his eyes glittered in the fluorescent lighting as he held up a hand to quiet the din. The crew quieted almost immediately, but their grins remained on their faces as they returned to their stations.

Even Spock's expression was noticeably lighter than it had been the past few weeks when he answered Kirk's question as though the previous ruckus had never happened. "We are currently orbiting Orwin Prime, Captain. An away team consisting of Lieutenant Sulu, Lieutenant Plavi from the science department, and Lieutenant Giotto from security has been dispatched to retrieve several samples of the native plant life for further scientific study. They should be returning within the hour."

"Excellent," Kirk declared, standing in front of his chair. "I trust everything else is in order?"

Spock nodded once. "Your sudden recovery, although unexpected, is most welcome, as there are currently eight hundred and forty-two reports awaiting your signature."

Kirk rolled his eyes and groaned. "Glad to know I'm good for something, anyway."

Several members of the bridge crew chuckled as Spock's eyebrow rose. "Indeed," the Vulcan replied. "Lieutenant-Commander Scott is eagerly awaiting your approval for an unorthodox upgrade that will supposedly improve engine output by twenty-six-point-nine percent."

"Will we be able to hit warp factor twelve with the upgrade?"

"Unknown," Spock answered. "However, I believe it would be prudent to remind you that _Constitution_-class vessels are only designed for a maximum warp factor of eight, and only for a minute period of time. As such, it is inadvisable to attempt to exceed those speeds. Nonetheless," he continued before Kirk could reply, "I am well aware of your tendency to, as you would say, 'push the limit' in scenarios such as this—a tendency that, while perilous and imprudent, has resulted in many positive outcomes during our short tenure of service aboard the _Enterprise_."

Kirk grinned. "Is that your way of saying you missed me?"

Spock's face was expressionless as he answered, "Your presence is much preferred to that of other Starfleet personnel who have expressed a desire to take control of the _Enterprise _in your absence."

"I see," Kirk said, face shifting smoothly from amusement into a look of grim determination. He turned from Spock to look over at the communications station. "Lieutenant Uhura!"

"Yes, sir?" Uhura answered, spinning around in her chair to look at him.

Kirk smirked. "Open a line of communication with Admiral Westervliet. I believe he and I need to have a little chat."

Uhura grinned wickedly. "Aye, Captain," she replied crisply, whirling back to face her computer terminal.

"Jim, are you sure you want to do this?" McCoy asked as the captain turned back to face the viewscreen. "He's been trying his damnedest to get you kicked out of Starfleet. The guy's an asshole, but he's the asshole that's holding all the cards right now."

Kirk's smirk deepened. "He only has the cards if we let him, Bones," he replied. "And if we're going to get things back to normal around here, then we're gonna have to pull the rug out from under him and send those cards flying."

"Before you confront the admiral, Captain, it is imperative that you are aware of the fact that he has filed claims of insubordination against both Doctor McCoy and myself," Spock informed him. When both Kirk and McCoy looked at him with raised eyebrows, he added, "I was informed via a Starfleet transmission this morning. Apparently the admiral was most adamant about our removal from the _Enterprise_."

Kirk's eyes darkened, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "Was he, now?" he murmured.

"I've established contact with the admiral," Uhura called before Spock could reply.

Kirk squared his shoulders as he looked at the viewscreen. "Onscreen, Lieutenant."

McCoy and Spock moved to stand on either side of the captain as Admiral Westervliet's face appeared on the screen. The admiral blinked in surprise when he saw the young captain glaring at him. "Jim Kirk," he greeted, trying and failing to keep the astonishment from his tone.

"Admiral," Kirk replied icily. "It's always a pleasure. I just wanted to inform you that I am in fact recovering—not a 'ghost,' as you previously thought."

Westervliet slumped down in his seat a bit as he raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I see that. Glad you're back on your feet."

Kirk huffed a breath through his nose. "I understand you have filed claims of insubordination against two of my crew?"

"Wasting no time, I see," Westervliet said with a hint of a sneer in his voice. "Refreshing."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "When it comes to my ship, sir, time is always of the essence. Why have you filed these claims?"

Westervliet's upper lip curled back. "Those claims weren't just against them, Kirk," he declared, glancing at Spock and McCoy before looking back at the younger man. "There's also one filed against you."

"You've got to be kidding!" McCoy exclaimed as Kirk's shoulders stiffened. Several people on the bridge gasped.

Spock's eyes flashed as he said, "If there is a charge of insubordination against the captain, then that means—"

"James T. Kirk, you are relieved of your duties until Starfleet command makes a ruling on this claim," Westervliet interrupted smugly. "You are hereby ordered to return to Earth as soon as your current work is completed."

Kirk raised a hand to stop the flurry of angry exclamations from his crew. "Understood, Admiral," he said sharply as he narrowed his eyes. He made a subtle hand motion in Uhura's direction as he added, "Temporary command will be given to Lieutenant-Commander Scott. You can expect a private call from me shortly. Kirk out."

Westervliet's face disappeared abruptly from the screen, leaving the bridge in an awkward silence. Before anyone could say anything, Kirk activated the comm embedded in the arm of the captain's chair. "Attention all decks, this is the captain speaking. Due to recent circumstances, Lieutenant-Commander Scott will be taking control of the ship, and we shall be returning to Earth within a few days." He paused a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to say something. "Kirk out."

Spock took a step toward Kirk. "I apologize, Captain. I was uninformed of Admiral Westervliet's actions and—"

"Don't worry about it, Spock," Kirk cut in. "It's not your fault that some of the admiralty are out to get us."

Spock and McCoy shot each other knowing glances, but before either could respond, the door to the turbo lift slid open with its customary _whoosh_. Scott stepped onto the bridge a moment later, grinning when he caught sight of the captain. "Glad to see you're alright, laddie!" he exclaimed, hurrying over to stand near the captain's chair. He laughed and clapped Kirk on the shoulder. "You'll have to tell me about your miraculous recovery some other time. What's all this bloody nonsense about me takin' control of the _Enterprise_?"

"Admiral Westervliet has filed claims of insubordination against Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, and myself," Spock informed him. "As per Starfleet regulation, a captain with an open claim of insubordination must be temporarily removed from duty until the Council rules otherwise."

"And since you're in the doghouse as much as the cap'n, that leaves me in charge," Scott finished with a shake of his head. "These damned admirals will be the death of me yet."

Kirk chuckled and slapped the engineer on the back. "You're too much of a clever bastard to let them do that, though," he declared confidently.

Scott laughed. "Aye, laddie, that's the truth," he answered with a smirk.

"What now, though?" McCoy prodded, folding his arms as he eyed the younger man. "Westervliet's still in charge, Jim. He's still giving you the runaround."

"At this point in time, Doctor, it seems there is little we can do," Spock interjected. "The control of the situation lies not only with Admiral Westervliet, but with the Council as well."

"Don't worry," Kirk replied. "I'll take care of this. We've still got a few options left to us. Mr. Scott, have all of the reports waiting for me forwarded to the ready room."

"Aye, sir. Anything else?" the older man replied.

Kirk smiled a little. "Get the away team back onboard and set course for home. You're captain now. Take good care of her, Mr. Scott. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the ready room. I've got some calls to make and a shitload of paperwork to catch up on."

Before anyone could respond, Kirk was striding past them, passing through a sliding door and into the ready room. They all heard the whir of the lock sliding into place, and an uneasy silence fell over the bridge. McCoy's eyes moved from the door of the ready room to the empty captain's chair. He frowned as he stared at it.

"Alright, you heard him," Scott barked, breaking everyone out of their momentary reverie. "Let's get those boys back up here and head out," he ordered as he sat in the captain's chair. "Doctor McCoy, Mr. Spock, you'd both better start workin' on an argument to present to the Council so we can get the both o' you back on duty. Once that's done we can start figurin' out how to help the captain. I don't wanna be in this chair any longer than I have to."

McCoy's gaze on the chair didn't waver, even though it was now occupied. "Doctor?" Spock called.

The CMO blinked and cursed loudly, making several of the younger bridge crew members around him flinch in surprise. "What?" Scott asked. "What's wrong?"

"He didn't sit in the chair," McCoy growled, glancing from the chair to the ready room door and back again. "Damn it, he hardly even _looked _at it!"

"So?" Scott asked as Spock's eyebrows furrowed.

"The captain's chair is one of Jim's favorite places to be," the Vulcan answered. "It is unusual for him to so blatantly ignore it."

Scott frowned. "So what does that mean?"

"It means we're not out of the woods yet," McCoy replied. "He might act like it, but Jim's far from being back to one hundred percent."

-o-

The next two days passed in a whirlwind of tests, meetings, and paperwork. McCoy had let the reports that needed his approval to stack up in the time that Kirk had been comatose, and while Chapel was a saint in several respects, not even she could be persuaded to fill out more than one hundred forms. As much as McCoy loved his work, he hated the tedious paperwork associated with it.

On top of that, the hours he'd spent over the past few weeks researching ways to help Kirk instead of sleeping finally caught up with him; more often than not he fell asleep at his desk, awakening only when the PADD he was working on dropped to the floor or the coffee in his hand spilled across his lap.

When McCoy wasn't working on reports or dozing off accidentally, he was composing a statement for Starfleet regarding Westervliet's claim of insubordination. He despised writing, but he hoped to have the entire fiasco taken care of before they reached space dock in Earth's atmosphere so that he could go back to focusing on what was bothering him the most—namely, the odd behavior of one James T. Kirk.

Not that he even _saw _Kirk all that often. The younger man spent most of his time either in his quarters or in the ready room supposedly working on paperwork and making vid calls to a variety of Starfleet officials. McCoy had only seen Kirk twice in the last forty-eight hours: once for a half-hour series of tests and once in the mess hall.

Both meetings had made McCoy feel uneasy. Kirk obviously hadn't been sleeping, judging by the consecutive cups of coffee he'd ordered in the mess and by the dark bags underneath his eyes, made all the more prominent by his too-pale skin. He'd only smiled once, and it hadn't even come close to reaching his eyes, which seemed dark and distant. But both times, Kirk had slipped off to return to his work before the CMO could question him about it.

McCoy had no clue what Kirk was currently planning to solve their situation with Westervliet, either—if he was planning anything at all. The only person McCoy knew for a fact Kirk had contacted was Admiral Pike, and that was only because the admiral had called the CMO wanting to know why Kirk seemed so skittish on the vidscreen. McCoy hadn't been able to fill him in on much, other than to conjecture that it was the deaths of the colonists more than the four days of torture that had affected him so profoundly.

It didn't help that Pike seemed to be as much in the dark about the Council's proceeds as the crew onboard the _Enterprise_. He'd informed McCoy that he was being kept as out of the loop as possible because of the fact that he had such close ties to Kirk. He was trying to find out as much as he could about the proceedings, but he didn't have a whole lot of new information to offer, which left McCoy even more uptight about the majority of higher-ups in Starfleet than usual.

And to top it all off, McCoy still had no idea how Kirk had managed to escape the Romulans' clutches in the first place. Apparently the captain had submitted some kind of report to Starfleet, but it seemed the higher-ups were far from happy with the summarization. Uhura's communication station had been flooded with demands from admiralty and Council members alike, almost all demanding that the _Enterprise _return to Earth and her captain be put on paid leave until the entire matter was resolved.

In short, McCoy was worried, but there wasn't much he could do about it. It was the same sickening motto he'd had the entire time Kirk had been catatonic, and it grated on him that it was still true even though the captain was alert.

Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura cornered McCoy in the mess during Gamma shift the second day, eight hours before the _Enterprise _was scheduled to arrive at space dock. The doctor was sitting by himself in the far corner of the room, and he looked up in surprise from the PADD he was consulting as the trio approached. "Aren't y'all supposed to be sleeping?" he asked pointedly as they sat in the chairs opposite him.

They looked at each other before looking back at him. "There's something seriously wrong with Kirk," Uhura declared.

McCoy sighed a little and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. "Tell me something I don't know," he muttered thickly.

"We think he might be leaving," Sulu replied.

McCoy choked a little and started coughing, glaring at Sulu when the helmsman lightly thumped him between the shoulder blades. "What the _hell _are you talking about?" he spluttered, reaching for his glass of water and draining the rest of it.

"He's been avoiding all of us," Uhura explained. "You know it as well as we do—he spends most of the day locked up in one of two places, and he only comes out right when the shift changes are taking place, so no one really has a chance to see him. That's not like him at all—normally he never shuts up, and he spends as much time as he can on the bridge."

"He's not _supposed _to be on the bridge thanks to that damn admiral, and he's got nearly a month's worth of paperwork to catch up on," McCoy shot back. "Of course he's been locking himself away in private. God knows I could use a bit of privacy," he added, looking from the trio to his PADD and back again.

Uhura glared at him, lifting her chin a little. "He finished his workload last night. I sent out the data packet myself."  
McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Then I suppose it's safe to assume you know how much time he's been spending talking with Starfleet as well."

"How much time, yes, but he's been transmitting with an encrypted signal," Uhura replied. "It changes too quickly and too randomly for us to figure out exactly who he's talking to."

"I did manage to decode a written message he sent to Starfleet, however," Chekov piped up. He flushed a little when McCoy raised an eyebrow at him but kept his gaze steady. "He requested that the _Enterprise _be granted three weeks of shore leave."

"Why?" McCoy asked.

"He wants us to have the time to, and I quote, 'Adjust to the change,'" Uhura replied, folding her arms.

McCoy scowled. "Have you received any indication from Starfleet that they're not going to let Jim keep his post?"

All three of them shook their heads. "There's been no information pointing at either outcome," Sulu said. "But if Captain Kirk is deciding to leave under his own free will, then there wouldn't really need to be a hearing."

"Spock's worried, too," Uhura interjected before McCoy could comment. "He hasn't said as much, but he's been in contact with Starfleet almost as much as Kirk has. I think he suspects something is up as well."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" McCoy asked, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms.

"You're his best friend," Sulu replied. "We figured if anyone could get to the bottom of this, you could."

"We don't want the keptin to leave," Chekov added. "Working on the _Enterprise _would not be the same without him. It _has _not been the same without him," he amended.

McCoy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I honestly don't know what to tell y'all," he admitted after a moment. "I might be his best friend, but he's avoiding me just as much as he's avoiding you."

Sulu's shoulders slumped and Chekov's gaze dropped to the table. Uhura leaned in slightly, her dark eyes narrow as she stared at the doctor. "You're telling me after all of this you're just going to give up?"

"Of course not! I—"

Uhura scoffed, cutting McCoy off. "That's what it sounds like to me. Kirk's going to walk right off the ship, and you're just going to let him."

"I never said that!" McCoy hissed, slamming his palms on the table hard enough to make his fork clatter off the cheap plate. "I'll do what I can to make sure he stays on this ship, even if I have to hunt him down and drag him back here myself."

"It would be a lot easier if you managed to convince him to stay in the first place," Uhura replied wryly, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth.

McCoy snorted, leaning back in his seat again. "You seem to have forgotten, Lieutenant, but this is Jim goddamn Kirk. 'Easy' is a word that ceases to exist when it comes to him." He sighed again, letting his shoulders slump as he eyed the younger officers. "But I'll see what I can do."

-o-

McCoy's opportunity arose a few hours later when everyone onboard the _Enterprise _received notification that they would have three weeks of well-deserved shore leave once they returned to Earth, and that the captain would unfortunately be unable to see them off. The memo was distinctly as Kirk and anti-professional as ever, so it ended with, "Have a great time and don't spend all those hard-earned credits in one place! (Unless, of course, it's in Vegas.)"

The last part of the message had McCoy practically sprinting towards Kirk's quarters, wondering if he was already too late; it sounded far too much like Jim Kirk's version of "goodbye."

As he rounded the final corner, he came to a surprised stop when he saw someone standing next to the door of the captain's quarters. "Jim?"

Kirk glanced up, a faint smile twisting his lips as he punched the code to lock his door. "Hey, Bones. Wondered when you'd show up."

"What's going on? Why are you in civvies?" McCoy demanded, eyeing the boots, worn jeans, faded gray t-shirt, and weathered leather jacket Kirk was currently wearing. "And why the hell do you have a duffel bag in your hand?"

The smile faded as Kirk slung the bag over his shoulder. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusting to the weight on his back. "I'm leaving, Bones."

McCoy's shoulders stiffened in shock. He'd discussed this very possibility with Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura just hours before, and yet he still wasn't completely expecting it. It wasn't like Jim Kirk to back down from a challenge, especially when it was from someone who had greater authority. "What? Why?" His eyes suddenly narrowed, and he scowled. "Is this because of Westervliet? I swear to God I'm gonna—"

"Bones, calm down," Kirk cut in, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's not permanent."

Something in Kirk's tone made the CMO pause for a moment. "You mean it's not permanent _yet_," he said grimly, folding his arm across his chest.

Kirk sighed and started walking down the hall towards the turbo lift without replying—which McCoy knew was response enough. "Goddamnit, Jim, you can't let them do this to you!" McCoy exclaimed, jogging a little to catch up the younger man until they were walking side by side down the hall. "If the Council hadn't been such bastards in the first place, this never would have—"

"I requested it, Bones."

Kirk's quiet statement caused McCoy to pause mid-rant. "W-what?" he stammered as they stopped in front of the lift.

"I requested it," Kirk repeated. "I asked for all of us to have three weeks off, and they granted it."

"Why? Why are you leaving _now_?" McCoy demanded. "Last time we had shore leave, you were the last one aboard this ship—I know, I was right there with you. This isn't you."

Kirk laughed once—a hollow sound, one that sent a shiver up McCoy's spine. "Honestly, Bones, I don't know what's me anymore," he said, his soft admission nearly drowned out by the _whoosh_of the lift door.

"Jim…"

"Don't, Bones," Kirk murmured as they stepped onto the lift. Kirk punched in the command, then leaned back against the wall. "Truth is, I'm tired, Bones. I'm tired, I'm messed up—and don't try to pretend I'm not."

McCoy snorted. "You honestly think I'd do something like that?"

The corner of Kirk's mouth twitched up into a small smile. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. But everyone else would want to."

He sighed again and let his eyes slide closed. McCoy frowned, leaning back against the wall so that his position mirrored Kirk's. The door slid open a second later, but neither of them moved for a moment.

"That's why I have to go and fix this," Kirk said finally, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at the CMO. "I need to figure this out so that no one has to pretend everything's okay. I need to _make _everything okay."

"You don't have to leave to do that, Jim," McCoy pointed out as they stepped off the lift. "We could—"

"Bones," Kirk interjected, laying a hand on the older man's shoulder. "You've already done everything you can. You pulled me back, for god's sake. If it weren't for you, I'd still be…" He swallowed as his fingers curled around McCoy's shoulder. "I need to do this, Bones," he finished quietly. "You've got to let me do this."

McCoy stared back at his friend for a long moment before he grasped Kirk's forearm. "Okay," he murmured. "God knows I hate going along with your idiotic plans, but okay."

Kirk smiled a little. It wasn't even close to his typical grin, but for the first time since he'd awakened, it reached his eyes. McCoy couldn't help but smile back.

He followed Kirk into the transporter room and wasn't too surprised to see the small crowd that had gathered there. Kirk, on the other hand, looked quite astonished. "What are you all doing here?" he asked.

Spock took a small step forward. "Lieutenant Uhura overheard your comm message requesting Mr. Scott's presence here. Given the fact that the sole object in here is the transporter, it was quite logical to assume you were planning on departing before the _Enterprise _was scheduled to dock."

"And I may have mentioned it to Spock near Sulu, who may have mentioned it to Chekov, who may have persuaded us to come down and see if we couldn't talk you out of it," Uhura added.

" 'Fraid not," McCoy declared before Kirk could reply. "We think it's best if Jim gets away from the ship for a little while."

Kirk shot him a grateful look before he stepped through the small group and onto the bottom step of the transporter. He turned around and looked at them all. "You guys really didn't have to be here."

"You're our keptin," Chekov answered simply. "And our friend," he added as Scott, Sulu, and Uhura nodded.

"It is the duty of a crew to ensure that its captain is sent off safely," Spock added.

Kirk's mouth tipped into a smile, and he nodded once at them before stepping onto the platform. The others gathered behind Scott as the engineer adjusted the controls. "Where am I sendin' you, Cap'n?" the engineer asked.

"Riverside," Kirk answered. "I'll start there, stop by to visit my mom, then maybe drive around the country for a bit."

"Alright," Scott said, plugging in the necessary coordinates.

McCoy folded his arms. "You better be back here in three weeks, Captain," he ordered.

Kirk smirked as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder. "Aye, sir," he replied, saluting with two still-bandaged fingers on his right hand. As light started swirling around him, he smiled and said, "I'll be _fine_, Bones."

Then there was a flash of light and the captain was gone. "Yeah," McCoy murmured softly, shoulders slumping as he eyed where Kirk had been standing a moment before. "That's what you said last time."


	4. Chase the Lone Ranger down

_**A/N**: Notes, disclaimer, etc. in Part I._**  
**

**Doctor My Eyes**

_**Part IV: Chase the Lone Ranger down  
**__"I'm feeling like Tonto,  
__Riding a pinto,  
__Trying to chase the Lone Ranger down."  
__-Big & Rich, "Wild West Show"_

Shore leave in San Francisco during the fall should have been perfect. The city was known for its Indian summers, which meant the weather was beautiful; even better, it was warmed by the natural heat of the sun instead of the artificial heaters on a ship floating in the cold vacuum of space.

McCoy had even grown familiar with the town; it wasn't quite home, but it served well enough as an anchor, a place he could always return to when space became too overwhelming. A San Francisco fall could never beat a Georgia spring, but McCoy had gradually come to accept it for what it was worth. There wasn't much point in going back to Georgia at the moment, anyway—not when Jocelyn and, more importantly, Joanna were on some around-the-world tour.

The setting sun was warm on his face as he leaned against the rail of the scenic overlook of the Golden Gate Bridge. The sky was fading into a beautiful blend of fiery red, glowing orange, pastel blue, and deep purple, and the skyscrapers of the city soared magnificently into the air, looking as if they were always meant to be part of the skyline. It was the perfect sunset, the kind he always liked to watch when he was studying at the Academy; he should have been happy.

In reality, though, McCoy was miserable.

Sure, he tried to get out and relax. He'd gone bar-hopping with Scott and Sulu the first night, spent a day at the beach with Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura, and visited some of his favorite professors during his time in the Academy. But the bars weren't as exciting as he'd remembered, the sun wasn't shining quite as brightly as normal, and Starfleet campus seemed strangely quiet despite the fact that the fall semester was in full swing.

McCoy didn't even try to deny it; life just wasn't the same without James T. Kirk around.

What really irked him was the fact that he couldn't even get a hold of the younger man. He'd managed to talk to Kirk once, the day after the captain had left for Iowa. The reception had been horrible, and he'd only managed to hear Kirk say he was outside in a storm before the message cut out completely. A quick scan from the _Enterprise _revealed a huge storm system rolling over the Midwest, which explained why Kirk's communicator was no longer functioning. Despite the advances in communications technology over the last two centuries, communicators were still annoyingly susceptible to most any type of moisture. Kirk's communicator had probably been damaged in the storm.

Of course, that didn't really explain why Kirk hadn't tried to reestablish contact with anyone in the five days since then. It wouldn't be too hard to replace a water-damaged communicator—not to mention the fact Kirk had already shown on two separate missions that he knew how to build one from scratch if needed. As Spock had said three days ago, Kirk's failure to communicate with anyone in Starfleet was illogical.

Not that McCoy was worrying about it.

Much.

He was walking back to the small apartment he'd been renting since his third year at Starfleet when the communicator in his pocket chirped. He frowned as he paused mid-stride to pull it out. "Yeah?"

Admiral Pike's voice was soft but stern. "_Get to a private vid screen and call me using your highest security code_."

Before McCoy could respond, the communicator chirped again, signaling that the connection had been terminated. The doctor's frown deepened, and he walked briskly toward his apartment, practically sprinting up the steps when he arrived.

Something was up with Kirk. Pike may not have said as much, but somehow McCoy just _knew_, even without all of secrecy.

He locked the door behind him as he entered the tiny flat and moved to the bedroom, closing the door and lowering the window shades before settling down at his desk. He entered the necessary codes into the vid terminal, and a moment later Pike's face appeared on the small viewscreen. McCoy could tell the older man was in his office by the bookshelf behind Pike's left shoulder. "Good," the admiral declared. "Hold on a moment."

A moment later, the picture cut in half, and Spock's face appeared in the other window. McCoy couldn't tell where the first officer was; the walls behind him were perfectly bland, lit up by minimal fluorescent lighting. "Admiral? Why is there a need for such discretion?" the Vulcan asked, one eyebrow arching in confusion.

"Yeah, what the hell is going on?"

"Do either of you know where Jim is?" Pike said tersely, eyes hard as he stared at both of them.

"No, sir," Spock answered as McCoy shook his head. "To our knowledge, Captain Kirk has made no attempt to reestablish any form of contact with any members of the crew of the _Enterprise_."

"Shit," Pike hissed, looking at something offscreen for a moment. McCoy heard the sound of a stylus tapping against a PADD, and a moment later Pike cursed again under his breath.

"What?" McCoy demanded, leaning in closer to his terminal. "What's wrong?"

Pike's eyes were troubled when he looked back at the screen. "The Etlics have finally agreed to negotiate terms for a treaty with the Federation."

"That is most unexpected," Spock declared, eyebrows furrowing slightly. McCoy couldn't help but roll his eyes at the major understatement. The Federation had been trying to get the Etlics to become an ally for almost a decade. Their home world was filled with plants unlike any ever seen before, and Starfleet's scientists were itching to analyze it. However, the Etlics were obsessively protective about their privacy and had repeatedly turned down any offer to negotiate with the Federation.

McCoy tilted his head as he studied Pike's face, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. This should be great news, but obviously something about it made the admiral anxious. "There's a 'but' coming, isn't there."

Pike nodded once. "They've requested that the Federation flagship be present for the negotiations. The Council's just agreed to their terms. You're not supposed to know this for another three days, but your shore leave's been cut short." His lips thinned and a spark of anger flashed in his eyes as he added, "They're going to send the _Enterprise _to Etlic. With or without Jim Kirk."

"Damn it," McCoy hissed, clenching his fists and scowling.

"What are your orders, sir?" Spock asked.

"We need to find your captain," Pike replied. "Fortunately, we have some time. The Etlics are sending a small ship over with a diplomatic party. They want to see the _Enterprise _in action, so they plan on being onboard the ship as passengers when she detaches from space dock. They'll be here in four days. If we don't get Jim back here and cleared with the Council before then, his career will be over before it really has a chance to even begin."

"I'll do it," McCoy declared immediately. "I'll go track him down."

Pike smiled knowingly. "I figured you probably would. Spock, I need you to help coordinate the search. The Council has decided to let both you and McCoy off with warnings, so you are once again acting captain of the _Enterprise_."

The corner of Spock's mouth turned down in a frown. "Neither Doctor McCoy nor I have made a formal presentation to the Council to defend our case. How then did they come to this decision?"

Pike's smile turned into a smirk. "I believe your two hundred page report and McCoy's one hundred fifty page report might have had something to do with that."

"Might've been the fact that a good eighty pages of my report was spent explaining why I believe that it can be medically proven that Westervliet's an asshole," McCoy muttered with a wry grin.

Pike chuckled as Spock's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, that might have been it," the admiral agreed. His expression sobered a little as he eyed the _Enterprise_'s CMO. "You're going to have to stay under the radar for this, McCoy. Starfleet obviously can't stop you from tracking Jim down, but judging from the things I've been hearing around here, I wouldn't put it past Westervliet to try and slow you down."

"Why is Westervliet so adamant about removing Jim from his position as captain?" Spock inquired. "It seems illogical that he would want to dismiss someone who clearly has been performing his duties well."

"I'm afraid that's partially my fault," Pike admitted with a small sigh. "Westervliet worked hard to become an admiral, but he was getting fed up with deskwork and wanted to get back out in space. He requested to have command of the _Enterprise _a couple years before it was completed; he was more than a little upset when I was named captain instead, but he tolerated it. However, I think Jim's age and unusual rise to captaincy was too much for him to handle."

Pike's gaze suddenly focused on something offscreen, and a moment later McCoy heard the tinny sound of someone trying to contact the admiral via communicator. "I've got to go," the admiral declared, looking back at the screen. "You better move quickly, McCoy. The next shuttle from San Francisco to Riverside leaves in twenty-five minutes."

McCoy nodded. "Thanks for the heads up."

"Good luck," Pike declared. "I think you're gonna need it."

-o-

The landscape outside Riverside, Iowa, was as flat as it had been when McCoy first arrived almost five years earlier. The air was drier, though—which made sense, since it was fall now, not the middle of summer.

McCoy hadn't had much of a chance to explore the area then—most of his trip from Georgia to Iowa had been lost in the haze of alcohol and exhaustion and bitter memories. Hell, now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure how he'd _arrived _in Riverside.

He hadn't stayed long last time, either. He'd signed up with Starfleet only a few hours after stumbling into town and headed out on a shuttle the next day—short enough that he couldn't come up for a legitimate reason _not _to be in Starfleet. Aviophobia meant that flying was no picnic, but McCoy had decided back then that having to think about how much he didn't want to be on that shuttle would be enough to make him stop thinking about how much he wanted to turn around and head back to Georgia.

Although, if he'd known at the time that he would be returning nearly four years later to try and track down his best friend, he would've paid more attention to the layout of the city.

It wasn't as if Riverside was a particularly hard town to navigate. Even with the presence of the Starfleet base nearby, Riverside was still a small town. Everyone knew pretty much everyone else in town, and McCoy used that to his advantage. In the six hours since he'd stepped off the shuttle, he had already walked from one end of town to the other, stopping by every bar in sight, as well as any restaurant and store still open at this late hour, to see if anyone had seen one James T. Kirk. The news was not good.

As he exited the last bar on the main street through town, McCoy sighed and pulled out his communicator. "McCoy to Spock."

"_Spock here, Doctor_."

"Jim's not in Riverside," McCoy reported grimly. "No one's seen him since he left to join the Academy."

"_That is impossible. The captain beamed down in Riverside. There should be at least one resident that has seen him_."

"I _know _that, Spock, but I'm telling you, I've asked around everywhere," McCoy shot back. "Either Jim hasn't stopped at any of the local joints in town, or he has but no one's recognized him."

Neither option seemed very likely to McCoy. Kirk seemed drawn to everything resembling a bar whenever they landed somewhere—not for the drinks as much as the chance to interact with people he'd never met before. And it seemed improbable that the young captain would be able to walk around Riverside without being recognized; he was a hometown hero now, even if he was a less than exemplary citizen when he was younger.

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line. "_As far as the majority of Starfleet knows, Captain Kirk still has two more weeks of leave. There is no logical reason for Starfleet to be concerned with his lack of communication yet_."

McCoy scowled a little, thinking of Admiral Westervliet's sneering face. "Especially if they're hoping he won't show up in time so they can let him go."

"_Indeed_," Spock answered, and the CMO knew the Vulcan's sharp tone meant that he was also remembering the incident on the bridge.

McCoy chewed his lip in thought as he glanced up at the night sky where the _Enterprise _was currently orbiting the planet at the space dock. "Pike's right. We need to get Jim back up there."

"_We cannot force him to do something he does not want to do_."

McCoy raised an eyebrow instinctively. "You really think Jim doesn't want to be captain anymore?"

Spock remained silent for a moment. "_It is not a matter of what he wants, but what he is capable of_."

McCoy frowned. "You don't think he's capable?"

The silence was even longer this time. "_I think that if anyone can overcome severe mental and physical trauma to do what others believe impossible, Jim can_."

"Damn straight," McCoy agreed vehemently. "Trouble is, we gotta find Jim to remind him of that."

"_What do you suggest, Doctor? Our time is short, and we need to ensure the captain is not emotionally compromised so that he may be allowed to rejoin us on the _Enterprise."

McCoy squared his shoulders as a plan formed in his mind. "I need Winona Kirk's last known address."

-o-

The farmhouse was small, high on a hill, and miles away from the nearest residence. The siding was painted the same dusky shade of red as the small barn a few hundred meters behind the house. Both buildings cast long shadows in the early morning sun. A horse grazed on a patch of grass growing along the fence that kept the animal close to the barn.

The only thing missing from the picturesque scene was a windmill with its blades slowly turning in the morning breeze, McCoy decided as he dismounted the old motorbike he'd purchased from a shipyard worker back in Riverside. Gravel crunched beneath his scuffed leather boots as he walked up to the small fence circling the house and pushed the gate open. The gravel gave way to a cobblestone path surrounded by grass that looked as if it needed a good watering.

McCoy climbed the trio of steps leading up to the front porch and hesitated for only a moment before rapping on the wooden door twice. He rocked his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet and back, suppressing a yawn as he glanced over his shoulder at the vibrant sunrise painting the eastern sky. He rubbed his bleary eyes and tried not to dwell on the fact that he hadn't really slept since he'd seen the sun setting in San Francisco, other than about an hour of uneasy sleep on the shuttle ride over.

He turned back as the door swung open, revealing a woman with graying blond hair staring up at him. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she was dressed in only a nightgown and bathrobe, but her blue eyes were alert and there was a knowing smile on her face despite the fact that they'd never met in person before.

"Leonard McCoy," Winona Kirk greeted, leaning against the door as she eyed him. "I wondered when you'd come after him. Come on in."

There was a brief, awkward moment before McCoy hesitantly crossed the threshold. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Call me Winona," she replied as she closed the door behind him. "Go ahead and take a seat in the kitchen while I change into something a little more acceptable."

With that, she left him standing in the living room as she ascended the stairs on the left. McCoy's eyebrows furrowed as he watched her feet disappear at the top of the steps. It was more than a little unusual for a woman to leave someone who was barely more than a stranger in her living room, but then, this _was _Jim Kirk's mother. McCoy had learned long ago that anything or anyone associated with Jim Kirk seemed strange.

McCoy scanned the small living room. The furniture was sparse—a sofa and loveseat sat in one corner with an end table between them, and an antique hutch sat along another wall. There was a fireplace in the wall near the entrance to the kitchen; judging by the layer of dust in the bottom of the grate, it wasn't used much.

A small trophy case on the fireplace mantel caught McCoy's attention, and he moved closer to examine it. Nestled on the velvet inside the case sat a medal and a small framed picture. McCoy didn't have to look at the engraving on the frame to know the man in the photo was George Kirk; Jim Kirk's resemblance to his father was almost uncanny. The medal, too, was easily recognizable.

"The Starfleet Medal of Honor."

McCoy spun around when he heard the older woman's voice. Winona stood at the bottom of the stairs in jeans and a green flannel shirt, one hand resting on the balustrade as she stared at him with a sad smile. McCoy glanced back at the display case and nodded once. "Quite the accomplishment," he said.

"It's one of the few things I keep out to remind me of what happened," Winona told him as she walked up next to him. "They used a piece of metal from the hull of the shuttlecraft Jim was born in to make it."

"Why?"

Winona touched the glass over George Kirk's face with a finger. "I asked them to," she replied softly. "George may have saved eight hundred people with his sacrifice, but he died to save his son. People might say otherwise, but _that's _why he got this medal." There was a pause, and then she added, in a voice so soft McCoy wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear it, "That's the only thing that makes his death worth it."

She sighed and let her hand drop as she walked into the kitchen. McCoy swallowed as he stared at the picture for a moment longer before tearing his eyes away and leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen. He glanced down at the frame and saw a few gouges in the wood. Crouching down, the corner of his mouth quirked into a small smile when he saw "Jimmy, age 9" in faded pencil near one of the marks.

"Go ahead and have a seat. Would you like something to eat?" Winona asked.

McCoy straightened and looked at her. "No, thank you. Coffee will be fine," he replied as he sat down in the nearest chair.

Winona's back was to him as she stood at the counter pouring coffee grounds into an antique percolator. For a moment, McCoy was reminded of his own childhood, sitting at the table during breakfast and watching his mother make coffee while his dad read the latest medical journal.

Surprisingly, the reminder of his father wasn't as painful as usual. McCoy wasn't sure what that meant; it had been years since he'd been able to think of his father doing anything besides laying in his deathbed.

"I hope you don't mind waiting a little while for it, then," Winona declared, jerking McCoy from his thoughts as she set the percolator on the stove and turned on the burner. "There're some drinks that can get away with being instant, but good coffee isn't one of them," she added as she turned to look at him.

McCoy nodded. "I know exactly what you mean, ma'am."

Winona laughed and shook her head. "Jim wasn't kidding when he said you were a Southern boy," she declared, crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter. She tilted her head as she studied him. "I'm glad, though. It's refreshing."

McCoy's cheeks flushed, and he instinctively looked down at the table top. There was a deep three-inch gash in the wood, and McCoy could feel a ripple in the varnish when he rubbed the area with his fingers. "Quite the mark."

Winona chuckled as she opened a cupboard door and grabbed a couple coffee mugs. "That one's from when Sam was trying to show Jim a magic trick. He was trying to bury a playing card in the table or some such nonsense, but Jim thought the trick was Sam proving how fast I could sense that they were up to no good. Of course, Jim was barely four at the time, so he was easily impressed."

"Sounds like they were quite the handful," McCoy declared.

Winona's smile faded a little, and McCoy saw a flash of something that looked like regret cross her eyes before she turned away to pull the percolating coffee off the stove.

McCoy tilted his head in thought as he watched her work. When he'd been thinking about how his interactions with Winona would go, this type of scenario had never crossed his mind. Kirk had never talked about his past much, but McCoy had always suspected his friend had a less than happy childhood—and he'd always suspected Winona of being an absent mother, whether she meant to be or not.

Yet here he was, sitting in Kirk's childhood home, listening to a woman who clearly loved her children. It made McCoy wonder (and not for the first time) just what had happened to Kirk when he was young to make him so convinced that he was worth less than anyone else.

McCoy blinked as Winona placed a cup of coffee in front of him. "Jim left three days ago," she informed him.

The doctor's eyebrows furrowed as he took a sip of his coffee. It was strong and bitter. "Did he say where he was going?"

Winona shook her head as she sat down across from him, sipping at her own mug of coffee. "Didn't say much about where he's recently been, either," she added.

"Do you know what happened?" McCoy asked.

"If you're talking about how my son was kidnapped by Romulans and came back so mentally broken that a large part of the admiralty is questioning his capability of being in Starfleet, then yes," Winona answered. Her eyes were troubled as she stared at the CMO. "If you're asking about what happened to put him _in _this state, then no."

McCoy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just wish he would let me help him," he said wearily.

The older woman studied him over her coffee mug. "How much do you know about Jim's childhood?"

McCoy's forehead furrowed in thought. "Not a whole lot, actually. He told me he didn't get along with his stepfather, that he acted out as a kid, and that he hasn't seen his brother in years." He kept his tone carefully neutral as he added, "He never talked about you much."

"I see," Winona murmured. She took a sip of her coffee before setting it on the table with a sigh. "As much as it pains me to admit this, I think you're the first person that's shown a vested interest in Jim since he was young. I tried," she added when McCoy visibly stiffened. "Believe me, Leonard, I tried. But I didn't try until after it was too late."

"What do you mean?" McCoy asked, setting his coffee cup down on the table and leaning forward in his seat.

Winona remained silent for a moment, tracing the lip of her mug with a finger. "When Jim was six, I decided that it was time for me to return to Starfleet," she began slowly. "I wanted to show both Sam and Jim that there was nothing to be afraid of in space. I wanted to prove that even with a loss such as ours, we could still move forward. But I didn't want to take them with me. Not yet."

"Space is no place for children," McCoy murmured softly, thoughts traveling back to Georgia momentarily.

Winona's lips twisted into a small smile. "Exactly," she murmured. "Eight months before I left, I married Frank. I wanted the boys to have a parental figure around—someone they could depend on. Someone they could look up to as a father."

"Did you love him?" McCoy asked before he could stop himself.

Winona hesitated for a moment. "As much as I was capable of," she replied softly. "But if I had known what would happen…" She sighed and tilted her head as she looked at McCoy. "You ever do something you thought was right but ended up being absolutely wrong?"

McCoy smiled wryly, eyes hard. "Too many times."

Winona nodded once, looking down at the table top. "Frank was a good man. And the boys were good boys. Especially Jim." The corner of her mouth lifted in a fond smile as she traced a mark on the table with a finger. "Jim was quiet growing up. He was mischievous and curious, which got him into a lot of places he shouldn't have been, but he managed to keep himself out of any serious trouble. And it stayed that way for awhile after I left. There were a few rough patches, but overall everything was going well."

"So what changed?" McCoy asked, folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

Winona sighed again. "Frank decided to sell George's antique Corvette. We'd talked about it for a long time, because it was worth a lot of money and we didn't drive it all that much. Frank wasn't into cars, and neither of the boys seemed interested in learning mechanical engineering—Jim liked to tinker with things, but he'd never even wanted to step foot in the barn where the car was kept. It really was pointless to keep it. But it… it was one of the few things we had that belonged to George, so I was always reluctant to get rid of it."

McCoy frowned as a thought crossed his mind. "Is this the same Corvette that Jim destroyed?"

Winona's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "He told you about that?"

"Once," McCoy replied. He hesitated momentarily before adding, "On his birthday a couple years ago."

He didn't mention that Kirk was drunk; if she knew her son at all, McCoy wouldn't have to mention it for her to know. And if she didn't know, then it wasn't really McCoy's business to tell her.

"I see," Winona murmured. She sipped her coffee. "But yes, it's the same car. And 'destroyed' is very much an understatement. It's still sitting at the bottom of the quarry, actually."

"Quarry?" McCoy queried, lifting an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes, Jim _would _neglect to mention _that _little detail," Winona answered wryly. "He drove the car off a hundred-meter cliff. Nearly followed it over the edge." Both of McCoy's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, and she laughed softly at his expression, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes.

Her smile faded after a moment. "After that, Frank and Jim never got along. They constantly fought. Sam didn't stay around the house very much—he threw himself into his studies. I think he wanted to avoid being at home with all the tension; he often ended up in the middle of arguments between Jim and Frank."

"And Jim?"

Winona took a sip of her coffee. "Jim started skipping school—to be honest, I think it was out of boredom more than a decision to act up, even if he claims otherwise. Jim's just too smart for his own good. We talked about putting him in classes with older kids, but it never happened. Oftentimes he was more of a handful than Frank wanted to deal with. Between that and the fact that our relationship suffered because of distance, Frank decided that it was time to move on. I was still in the middle of an assignment, so I couldn't take the boys with me when we divorced. But we all decided it would be good for Jim to get off-planet for awhile, so I sent him to live with my brother and his family."

Winona paused and looked up at McCoy. "You're probably wondering why Jim's taking this particular mission so hard."

McCoy blinked, startled by the apparent non sequitur. "I figured he was feeling guilty because of all the colonists who died—not that he needs to, since it's not his damn fault."

"I'm sure that's part of it, but unfortunately it's not the first time he's seen this much death and destruction," the older woman replied grimly.

McCoy's forehead furrowed in confusion. "You mean the destruction of Vulcan?"

Winona shook her head and sighed. "What do you know about Tarsus IV, Leonard?"

"It failed miserably. Half the colonists starved to death," McCoy answered, wondering just where the conversation was going. "It was all over the news for weeks back when I was just starting college. Four thousand people died because Starfleet failed to check in with the colony when they didn't send any messages for months. There were protests and riots at every Starfleet base in the world."

Winona shook her head again. "That's just what Starfleet _wanted _everyone to think. Yes, they failed to check in with the colony when they went too long without reports. But the colonists didn't starve—they didn't have the time."

The CMO straightened up in his chair. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked sharply.

"The colony was struggling, and people _were _starving, and it probably would've failed within a few months, but starvation didn't wipe it out. Governor Kodos killed those he thought were genetically inferior and therefore 'draining' the colony's resources. My brother and his family were counted among them."

McCoy's eyes widened. "You mean Jim-"

Winona nodded once. "He was there, Leonard. Jim was on Tarsus."

"My god," the CMO whispered in horror. His stomach churned violently at the thought of a young Jim Kirk surrounded by that much death and destruction. "How… how did he escape?"

Winona drained her mug, blinking her watery eyes several time. "As far as I know, he's never told anyone that," she said. Her hands tightened into a white-knuckle grip around her mug. "He was the only one from my family to make it out alive."

"Damn it," McCoy hissed, slamming a fist on the table as he surged to his feet. "Why didn't I know about this? Why wasn't this in his medical files? If the conditions were that bad on Tarsus, he should have needed medical attention. There should have been _some _mention of it in his records!" he fumed, pacing the short length from the table to the wall. He paused by the table and hit it with his fist again. "Damn it, this entire fiasco would have made a hell of a lot more sense if we'd known!" His shoulders slumped as he looked at Winona. "Why didn't he tell me?" he finished in a whisper.

Winona stared back him with a small, rueful smile on her face. "You should know that better than anyone, Leonard."

McCoy sighed and sat back down in his chair. "Jim internalizes everything," he said, folding his arms. "Especially if there's a chance he'll seem weak in front of everyone."

Winona nodded and sighed. "Something he picked up from me, I'm afraid. Something he learned too well on Tarsus."

"I've been trying to convince him for years that he doesn't have to do that all the time," McCoy told her. "A good majority of the time, I can see through him, anyway. I just wish he'd realize that."

Winona tilted her head as she stared at the doctor. "Don't give up on him yet," she said after a long moment. "Of all the people onboard his ship, you were the one that managed to get through to him. Jim's a smart kid, but sometime's he's a real slow learner." When McCoy eyebrows rose in surprise, the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. "Don't act so surprised, Leonard."

"No, it's not that," McCoy cut in. "It's just… I never thought… I guess I was under the impression that you didn't pay all that much attention to Jim when he was younger."

Winona's smile faded. "I always thought of George whenever I looked at him," she admitted quietly. "What George was missing, why Jim didn't have a father, why George had died in the first place. Part of me…" She cleared her throat. "Part of me hated my own son. And I… I didn't want him to see that because I knew it wasn't true. No matter how much it hurt to remember what had happened the day Jim was born, I knew I could never hate him—not really. So when I tried to hide any resentment, I ended up hiding how I really felt, too."

She lifted her chin as she looked McCoy in the eyes. "I've made a lot of mistakes when it comes to raising my son, Leonard. I could blame it on George's death, on Jim's personality, or on a million other things, but I'd be lying. I failed my son. I'm not proud of it, but Jim and I have reached an understanding. Even so, we're never going to be close." She propped her arms on the table and leaned forward. "You are the first real friend Jim's had since Tarsus. You're closer to him than I will ever be. Jim's changed a lot over the last few years, and I think it's because of you."

"And Starfleet," McCoy replied quietly.

"And Starfleet," Winona agreed with a nod. She smiled a little. "Jim's not just living for his own survival anymore. For the first time, he's got a real purpose. _You've _given him that purpose. You and everyone else on his ship. And for that, I thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet. If a few of the higher-ups in Starfleet have their way, Jim's not going to have a ship for much longer," McCoy told her. "I need to find him, Winona. Do you have any idea where he could have gone?"

"Jim's a traveler. He could be anywhere. He loves the East Coast, though."

McCoy resisted the urge to sigh. There were close to a billion people living on the East Coast; it would take much longer than a few days to search for Kirk there. "Was there a place he liked to retreat to when he was young? Anywhere he might want to revisit?"

Winona chewed her lip for a moment. "My family owns a small cabin up in Montana. In the Bridger Mountains. No one's been up there for decades, but… it was the last place that I spent time with my boys before I left for space. I can't make any guarantees, but—"

"It's a start," McCoy declared. "Thank you."

Winona leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and staring at him. "No need to thank me. Just bring him home, Leonard."

McCoy nodded, knowing instinctively she wasn't talking about this house. "I will."


	5. Lights will guide you home

_**A/N: **__Notes, disclaimer, etc. in Part I._

**Doctor My Eyes  
****_Part V: Lights will guide you home_**

_"Lights will guide you home  
__And ignite your bones.  
__And I will try to fix you."  
__-Coldplay, "Fix You"_

_"Not all those who wander are lost."  
__-J.R.R. Tolkien_

If one thing had remained constant about North America over the centuries, it was the fact that the Great Plains were flat and never-ending and about as entertaining as watching paint dry. McCoy had watched old holovids depicting people traversing the Midwest, and from what he could tell as he zipped down the highway on his motorcycle, nothing had changed. Waist-high prairie grass swayed in a warm breeze, occasionally shifting into fields of corn before changing back to prairie grass. The hours blended together; sometimes it felt as if it had been minutes since he'd left Winona Kirk's farmhouse, only to feel like days just a few miles down the road.

Yet McCoy found himself drawn to the monotonous terrain. After years living on and around the crowded Starfleet campus, as well as spending the last nine months in the confines of a starship, it was refreshing to be surrounded by nothing but rolling plains and an endless blue sky. Despite the aching muscles he had from spending long hours on the bike, he relished the opportunity to be back on solid ground again.

Of course, the trip would be much more relaxing if he didn't have so much time to think.

McCoy had considered a multitude of possible traumas Kirk might have encountered as a child. He knew firsthand that Kirk was more complicated than anyone would have thought and wasn't nearly as carefree and lighthearted as everyone thought him to be. Still, out of all those possibilities he'd pondered, being a survivor of mass genocide had never been one of them.

He could still remember seeing footage of some of the survivors from the colony. Most were barely recognizable as people. They looked more like walking corpses, little more than skin and bones; many of the children had abdomens so distended from starvation that it looked like the skin should have been splitting. Hundreds more had died in the weeks after their rescue, and close to a thousand had died in the years immediately following the disaster.

McCoy couldn't imagine living through that; he couldn't even begin to comprehend the possibility of joining an organization that had allowed something like that to happen right under their very noses. And yet Kirk had done just that—he'd not only survived the disaster, but he'd seemingly bounced back from it with few consequences.

Well. Visible consequences, anyway. McCoy had experienced the backlash of the emotional consequences firsthand.

That, more than anything, was what kept him speeding across the barren landscape. He didn't want Kirk to lose command of his ship, but this new information changed everything. Now, McCoy wasn't tracking Kirk down just to bring him back to the _Enterprise_; now, McCoy was tracking down a survivor of _three _different massacres, desperately hoping that he would find him in time to prevent him from doing something foolish.

After mulling over the possibilities at Winona's, McCoy had decided to head west to the cabin. It would be easier to disappear in the bustling cities along the East Coast, but McCoy had a gut feeling Kirk wasn't wandering around in order to disappear. He'd learned long ago to never question his gut when it came to Jim Kirk; he wasn't about to start now.

Besides, this kind of behavior was something he'd seen before. Back at the Academy, Kirk would vanish every so often, only to show up a couple days later acting as if nothing had happened. He never told McCoy where he went, but that didn't stop the older man from trying to find out. During their second year, McCoy had followed Kirk on one such occasion, only to find that Kirk was simply retreating to a hill past the outskirts of San Francisco in order to get a better view of the stars.

That hill became their retreat from that point forward. They started spending their rough days up there. McCoy's anniversary, Joanna's birthday, and Kirk's birthday were spent on the hillside. They would sprawl in the grass on their backs and share a bottle of whiskey or bourbon as they looked up at the night sky and Kirk murmured the legends behind the constellations.

McCoy knew firsthand that old habits die hard; he was hoping that this was one habit of Kirk's that hadn't changed since they'd been commissioned to work on the _Enterprise_.

After all, it was the only lead he had.

-o-

He traveled for eighteen hours straight before he was forced to take a few hours to stop in some small down just inside Wyoming and get a little sleep at a motel. He knew it wouldn't do Kirk any good if McCoy got into an accident and broke his neck just because he didn't get any sleep.

He contacted Spock again before he headed back out on the road. "McCoy to Spock."

"_Spock here. Any success, doctor?"_

"I might have a lead on him, but it's nothing solid," McCoy replied, rubbing a hand over his face. He winced at the scratchy stubble that was quickly forming into a beard. It felt rough and itchy after having spent years clean shaven. "I'm in Wyoming. Winona thought he might be heading for a small cabin in Montana."

"_Would it not be easier to beam you to the coordinates?"_

"We're keeping this low key, remember?" McCoy reminded him. He fought back a yawn and continued, "Westervliet's definitely going to know we're looking for Jim if we use the transporter while the Enterprise is at space dock. And a scan for life forms apparently wouldn't help much—Winona said there's a lot of hikers in the area this time of year." He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"_From the sound of your voice, I have deduced you have not been taking adequate care of yourself, Doctor_," Spock said after a moment.

"I'll be fine," McCoy said with a dismissive wave of his hand, even though he knew Spock couldn't see it. "It's Jim I'm worried about."

"_Did his mother indicate there is a need to worry?"_

McCoy hesitated for a split second. Kirk would kill him if he found out McCoy and Spock both knew about his experiences on Tarsus. "Do you remember Tarsus IV, Spock?" he asked finally.

There was a long pause. "_Jim was on Tarsus?_"

The doctor blinked in surprise at the hint of emotion in Spock's voice; if McCoy had to wager a guess, he would've said it sounded like Spock was horrified—or as close to horrified as he would ever be. For a moment, he felt a strong sense of connection with the Vulcan. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. "Yes."

Another pause. "_Why was this not mentioned in his medical records? This knowledge explains much of the captain's recent behavior and would have been advantageous in our efforts to help him recover_."

"I know," McCoy replied. "I'm not sure _why _there is no mention of it. But we both know how good Jim is with computers; he might have deleted those files himself. And… it's worse than you think."

"_I fail to understand how that can be possible_."

McCoy's lips twitched a little when he heard the dry sarcasm, but his expression quickly sobered. "Winona told me the truth about Tarsus."

He could practically picture the confused furrow between Spock's eyebrows as the Vulcan said, "_To what are you referring, Doctor? From my understanding, Starfleet indicated that four thousand colonists died of starvation_."

"Not all of them," McCoy answered grimly. "The governor had most of them killed before starvation could take them."

Spock didn't respond for a long moment. "_I do not understand. Why would that information be kept quiet? Why lead people to believe that starvation killed the colonists and not genocide?_"

"Who knows," McCoy said with a dark scowl. "Maybe Kodos paid off the right people. Maybe there was someone on the outside who didn't want to be implicated and had the power to prevent it. Maybe the Council didn't want to make themselves appear idiotic for appointing a psychopath to be a governor."

"_No matter the reason, this new information further explains Jim's behavior over the past month_."

"No kidding," McCoy replied with a roll of his eyes. "Have you found any sign of him?"

"_No. He has not taken any more credits from his account since the day he beamed down."_

McCoy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I just wish I knew for sure that I'm heading in the right direction."

There was another pause. "_I believe your close friendship with the captain makes you an expert on his behavior. Therefore your judgment is more sound than most_."

McCoy blinked in surprise at the quiet statement. That was one of the last things he'd ever imagined he'd hear Spock say. "This conversation should never be brought up again," he said with a wry chuckle. "People might start thinking we _like _each other."

"_I concur. It would be wrong to allow the crew to believe such an erroneous statement._"

McCoy smirked. "I've got to go. I'll let you know when I find him. McCoy out."

The smirk fell as he stowed his communicator and mounted the bike. His lower back was stiff and his shoulders were sore from his long trip, but as much as he wanted to stretch out on the motel bed again, he knew he couldn't. Time was running out.

"Damn it, Jim," he murmured, zipping up his jacket and firing the bike up. "You better have gone this way."

-o-

It wasn't until he reached the Wyoming-Montana line four hours later that he picked up solid evidence of Kirk's trail.

He stopped at a restaurant on the edge of some small town, intending to stay just long enough to grab a quick meal and a large cup of coffee. His waitress—a tiny woman old enough to be his mother—apparently had other intentions; she stopped by every few minutes to try and strike up a conversation with him, despite the fact that he was less than responsive.

"So what brings you out here, anyway?" she asked as she refilled his coffee for the third time.

McCoy barely restrained an annoyed eye roll. Small towns were all the same, whether in the plains of Wyoming or the hills of Georgia, he mused. Warm, welcoming, chatty, and downright nosy. "Needed a break from it all," he muttered.

"And your idea of taking a break is driving alone across the Great Plains of North America? Without anyone to keep you company?"

"Does it really matter?" McCoy growled, shoving a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth. The company wasn't much, but the food wasn't bad, he decided as he swallowed. Except for the coffee; it tasted weak compared to the coffee he'd had at Winona Kirk's house.

The waitress stared at him thoughtfully, left hand on her hip and right gripping the handle of the coffee carafe. "You searching for someone? Because that's the exact same answer another young man gave me last week. Seems like more than a coincidence to me."

McCoy's head shot up, his interest piqued. "What did he look like?"

"Like someone who needed a hot shower and sleep," the older woman replied. "But then, I suppose Starfleet's youngest captain wouldn't have the common sense God gave a horse to realize he needs to take care of _himself _every now and then."

"Jim was here?" McCoy demanded, sitting straighter in his seat. "When?"

"Three days ago," the waitress answered. "Didn't say much—stopped in to grab a meal to go. Never gave his name, but I recognized him. Half the women in this town would give everything they own to meet the handsome boy who saved the universe—it's all they seem to talk about anymore."

"Do you know where he went?" McCoy asked, draining the last of the coffee in his mug and standing.

"Towards Montana," she replied. "That's about all I can tell you."

McCoy handed her some credits. "It's enough. Thank you," he said with deep sincerity.

She tilted her head as she studied him. "You can thank me by catching up with him," she finally told him. "That boy doesn't belong down here. Get him back where he belongs."

McCoy's lips twisted into a smirk. "Trust me, ma'am. I'm trying."

-o-

The cabin was high on the mountainside, built at the end of a winding road so rough McCoy had worried he would either crash or disappear into a giant pothole. He was running on fumes—the motorcycle's gas tank was nearly empty, and he himself had only had five hours of sleep over the last three days; his last stop for food had been at that little restaurant on the state line six hours ago. He was more than ready to catch up to his best friend and knock a little sense through his thick skull so he could get some sleep.

There was another tarp-covered motorbike parked near the shed on the side of the house. He pulled up next to it and glanced around as he turned his cycle off. As the deep rumble of the engine faded away, he could hear the soft twitter of birds in the trees and the sound of water rushing over stones as it flowed in a stream past the house and down through the woods. The cabin itself was small, looking as if it had been pulled straight from the pages of an antique history book with its pane glass windows, walls made from old logs, and dark shingled roof.

McCoy swung his left leg backwards to dismount from the bike, wincing as the movement aggravated his sore muscles. He stretched, trying to release some of the tension in his back and shoulders. His legs were stiff as he loped up the dirt path to the door of the cabin. After only a moment's hesitation, he rapped on the door once with his fist.

Relief swept over him as he heard familiar footsteps approaching the door, followed by a wave of weariness so powerful that his knees buckled a bit, and he had to lean against the doorframe in order to stay upright.

The door swung open a moment later, and Kirk looked at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Bones?"

"Hey, Jim," McCoy replied with a tired grin. He tried to straighten up off the doorframe; the movement made the world around him spin violently. Then everything went white as he stumbled forward.

A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and he heard a familiar voice shout "Bones!" with just a hint of panic as he collided with the owner of both the hands and the voice.

"'S'kay, Jim," McCoy mumbled, resting his forehead on Kirk's shoulder. "'S'kay."

And before Kirk could respond, darkness consumed McCoy's vision and he let himself float away into peaceful oblivion.

-o-

The first thing he realized when he woke up was that he was in a bed far too comfortable to belong on the _Enterprise_. Then he realized he could hear the sound of something sizzling in a pan, and suddenly he remembered that he actually _wasn't_ onboard the ship.

McCoy rolled over and blinked lazily a few times as he looked at the ceiling. Thick wooden logs crisscrossed length of it, and he followed the pattern until it met with the wall. Through the slightly open door, he could hear movement in the kitchen. He saw a glimpse of movement as Kirk moved from the stove and put something in the sink. He scanned the rest of the room and saw a door leading to a small bathroom.

With a yawn, he tossed the covers back and climbed out of bed, shivering instinctively as his bare feet hit the cool wooden floor. He took a quick pit-stop in the bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He didn't have to see himself to know he looked scruffy and sleep-deprived. He ran a hand through his hair as he padded out of the bathroom to the bedroom door and pulled it open. Kirk looked up from the large sink, his arms plunged in soapy water up to his elbows. "Hey," McCoy said.

Kirk's lips twitched, but his voice was emotionless as he replied, "Hey, yourself." He jerked his head over in the direction of the stove. "There's some eggs and bacon if you want."

"Sounds good," McCoy said, ambling over to the stove and grabbing a plate off the counter. Kirk went back to washing dishes as McCoy loaded his plate with a couple huge scoops of eggs and four pieces of bacon. He glanced out the window as he sat down at the small table, surprised to see that the position of the sun hadn't changed much since he'd arrived. "What time is it?" he asked.

"I think the better question is 'What day is it?'" Kirk replied as he rinsed a bowl and set it in the drying rack. "It's tomorrow, in case you were wondering," he added, looking over at his shoulder at the doctor.

McCoy's eyebrows shot up as he chewed a mouthful of eggs. "Huh."

Kirk snorted, grabbing a towel and drying off his hands as he turned around. "Does this not seem ironic to you?" he asked, leaning back against the counter. When McCoy looked at him in confusion, he clarified, "You're the one that passed out on my doorstep and I'm the one that had to clean you up and put you to bed."

McCoy tilted his head, surprised to hear the anger coloring Kirk's voice. "Jim…"

"And I had a nice conversation with Spock last night," Kirk continued, tossing the towel aside and folding his arms. "Can you guess what he told me?"

"Jim—"

"Seventy-one hours! You've been looking for me for seventy-one hours!" Kirk hissed. "Judging by the fact that you just slept for the last twenty of those hours, I think it's fairly safe to say you got almost no sleep in that amount of time. And I _know _you were hardly sleeping the whole month before that."

McCoy blinked in astonishment at the vehemence in Kirk's voice, then narrowed his eyes. "Don't even—"

"Did you suddenly decide to become an idiot and pull a bunch of stupid stunts just because I wasn't around, is that it? You're damn lucky you didn't crash!"

"Don't you start with me, Kid," McCoy growled, shooting to his feet and leaning forward, hands splayed flat on the tabletop. "Don't expect me to apologize for tracking down your ass. You didn't leave me much choice, seeing as how you decided to go incommunicado on us. Did you think we'd stop worrying about you just because we couldn't reach you anymore?"

"So you beam down to find me!" Kirk replied angrily. "You don't drive for twenty-eight hours straight trying to track me down."

"We couldn't do that!" McCoy shot back. "We couldn't let Westervliet find out what we're up to. He wants to take the _Enterprise_, Jim! We needed you to come back!"

"Who says I want to, Bones?" Kirk exclaimed, shocking McCoy into silence. The younger man's shoulders slumped a little. "Who says I want to?" he repeated softly as he rubbed a hand over his face.

The silence that fell over the little kitchen was thick and filled with tension. McCoy could tell that his mouth was gaping, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he stared with wide eyes at Kirk. The young man stared back at him for a moment, a mix of disbelief, concern, and exhaustion on his face.

Then Kirk looked away, and McCoy felt his throat clog up. "Jim…"

"I'm going for a hike," Kirk declared tersely, moving toward the screen door. "I'll be back later."

McCoy took a step forward. "Jim, wait."

Kirk paused in the doorway, one hand grasping the doorframe. "There's some juice and fruit in the fridge if you want," he muttered, and then he was gone.

McCoy stared blankly at the now-empty doorway, still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Jim Kirk, not wanting to be captain of the _Enterprise_?

How the hell had it come to this?

He took a step backwards, and something rattled on the table when his hip collided with the corner of the tabletop. He glanced down to see the plate of barely-eaten eggs and bacon. His stomach churned, but not with hunger, as he slowly sat back down. With a sigh, he picked up his fork and began to eat again. The eggs had begun to cool and congeal already, and they tasted a little too salty, but McCoy ate everything on his plate. He kept glancing back at the screen door, half expecting Kirk to bounce back in and proclaim that everything had been a joke and he wanted to beam up to the ship right this minute.

The silence in the small cabin was nearly deafening.

McCoy waited half an hour after finished eating before he finally got up to clean the dishes Kirk had left in the sink. The water was cold, so he drained it and refilled it, staring absentmindedly out the window while he waited for the sink to fill. The small backyard was quickly swallowed by the thick forest beyond it. The sun was a few hours past its zenith, and the long shadows it cast through the trees gave the forest a dark, foreboding look.

For a brief moment, McCoy panicked. Worst-case scenarios of Kirk getting lost, getting attacked by an animal, or falling down some cliff flashed through his mind. He took a step toward the door before he stopped, berating himself for being so jumpy. Kirk had already been here for a few days; he'd more than likely been all over the mountainside already. If there was one thing McCoy knew about Kirk, it was that the younger man had an endless amount of curiosity. He was always on the look out for new and exciting things.

Except… now it seemed he wasn't.

McCoy had no idea how to handle that. For as long as they had known each other, Kirk had always been the one eager to go into space. Neither of them had much of a reason to stay on Earth, but McCoy had always preferred to keep his feet planted on solid ground.

Yet here they were, McCoy wanting nothing more than to get back to work on a floating tin can and Kirk the one reluctant to return to space. McCoy could have laughed at the irony if it didn't make him so uneasy.

When he'd been following Kirk's tracks, he'd been worried that he wouldn't find the younger man in time to bring him back. Now, McCoy worried that he wouldn't be able to bring him back at all.

McCoy finished washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. He grabbed an orange from the antique refrigerator, eyeing the package of steak sitting on the second shelf. It had been awhile since he'd cooked anything, but grilling steak had always been one of his specialties. He stared at the package for a moment longer before shutting the door.

He tossed the orange lightly in one hand as he moved from the kitchen to the adjacent living room. There was one long sofa and two small recliners circled around the fireplace. A huge bookshelf sat against one wall, filled from floor to ceiling with honest-to-God books. Not that the doctor was surprised—Kirk had always had a stash of old paperbacks hidden away in his room during their time at the Academy.

McCoy perused the ancient volumes for awhile, pulling a few off the shelves to flip through them before placing them back in their rightful spots. Many of the bindings were well-worn, and some of the pages had stains on them, but all of them were still legible. The books themselves seemed to be in pretty good shape, if not a little dusty.

He finally settled on a thin western novel and stretched out on the sofa. Propping the book between his legs, he started peeling the orange as he read. Reading about murders and mysteries and the occasional shootouts sounded a lot less stressful than thinking about real-life murders and massacres and messed up best friends.

-o-

McCoy finished two Louis L'Amour novels and was just finishing up the steaks when Kirk finally returned.

"Honey, I'm home!" he joked as he walked in the door. "Glad to see you pulling your weight, Bones."

McCoy snorted, not bothering to look up as he pulled the steaks out of the oven. "I haven't had a decent steak in years. Didn't want to risk the chance of you screwing up."

He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it left his mouth, and he could _sense _Kirk stiffen up across the room. "Gee, thanks," Kirk muttered on his breath.

McCoy suppressed a frustrated sigh as he set the pan on top of the stove and closed the oven door. Two months ago, that kind of comment would never have been an issue. "Damn it, Jim, that's not what I—" He paused when he turned and looked at his friend. "What happened to your face?"

Kirk raised a hand to brush at the scratches near his right eye, and McCoy's frown deepened when he saw only skin on the tips of the fingers; they looked strange with no nails. "I had a close encounter with a tree," the younger man said nonchalantly.

"Looks like you nearly poked an eye out," McCoy grumbled as he moved to get a closer look, his doctor instincts swinging into full gear. Kirk stood silently for a moment as McCoy grabbed his chin and turned his face to get better lighting to see the marks. The scratches weren't deep, but they were long. One trailed down his forehead and crossed his cheekbone, and when Kirk blinked McCoy saw a small scratch on the eyelid that connected the mark. The scratches were an angry red color, and McCoy could see the tell-tale signs of infection beginning to form in a couple of them. "I've got a med kit out in my bike. You hurt anywhere else?"

"I'm fine," Kirk replied, jerking his head out of McCoy's grasp. He kept his eyes averted as McCoy stared at him for a long moment.

"I'll be right back, then," the doctor declared finally, striding past Kirk and out the door. He kicked a rock in frustration, watching as it bounced across the ground before disappearing into the dark undergrowth at the base of the trees. The sky hadn't completely darkened yet, but the sun had disappeared behind the mountains awhile ago. The air had cooled significantly, and overhead the first stars were just starting to appear. He moved quickly to the bike, lifting the seat to access the small storage space underneath. He grabbed his med kit and let the seat fall back into place as he jogged back toward the cabin.

The table was set when he reentered the kitchen, and Kirk was just pulling a couple of bottles of Bud classic out of the fridge. The younger man sighed a little when he saw the kit in McCoy's hand. "Can't that wait until after dinner? I'm hungry!"

McCoy rolled his eyes instinctively. "It'll take two minutes, you baby," he replied, setting the kit down on the table and pulling out the small dermal regenerator. After a second's hesitation, he pulled out a small packet of painkillers and held it out. "Here."

"Bones, I'm-"

"You've got a headache, Jim, I can tell," McCoy interrupted. "So unless you want to be jabbed in the neck with a hypo, take these."

Kirk's lips twitched into a brief smile for a moment as he grabbed the packet from McCoy's hand. McCoy gave a small nod of satisfaction and activated the regenerator while Kirk dry-swallowed the pills.

"By the way—where'd you get that bike?" Kirk asked as McCoy dabbed the scratches with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant. The captain flinched away instinctively from the sting of the alcohol.

"Hold still," McCoy admonished, placing his free hand on top of Kirk's head to keep it still. "Picked it up from some dockyard worker in Riverside. Why?" he asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion as Kirk started laughing. "What's so funny?"

"That was my bike," Kirk replied. "Built it from scratch. I gave it away the day I joined up with Starfleet."

McCoy blinked and pursed his lips in surprise. "If that's your roundabout way of asking to have it back, the answer's no," he declared flatly.

Kirk smirked a little. "I thought you hated motorcycles."

"I do," McCoy replied as he finished cleaning the last of the scratches. He tossed the cotton pad in the nearby trashcan. "They're death traps on wheels."

"And yet you drove halfway across the country on one," Kirk pointed out. His smirk widened. Typically it was a look that drove McCoy nuts because it meant Kirk was actively trying to annoy him; he'd never been more relieved to see it on the younger man's face. "Admit it—you loved it," Kirk added.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, Jim. I enjoy nothing more than having wind drying out my eyeballs and sitting in a seat that's designed to throw my lower back permanently out of alignment," he said in a deadpan tone. Kirk's smirk turned into a knowing grin, but instead of being annoyed like he usually was, McCoy was relieved to know that Kirk had seen through his lie. It was a sign that his friend was really getting better.

Besides, it hadn't been a very good lie, anyway. McCoy was still stiffer than he'd ever been in his life, but he had no plans on getting rid of the bike anytime soon, even if he wasn't going to be around to drive it much.

"Now shut up and hold still if you want me to patch you up without permanently joining your eyelids," McCoy finished. Kirk pantomimed zipping his lips shut and leaned against the edge of the counter. McCoy barely resisted rolling his eyes again; instead, he activated the dermal regenerator and got to work.

The tension in the air was the lowest it had been in weeks, and for the first time in a long time, McCoy felt relaxed as he worked. The scratches were healed within minutes. The only sign they'd ever been there was the lighter-colored pink lines of new skin, but McCoy knew from experience that it would fade to the regular skin tone in less than an hour.

"Alright, I'm done," McCoy declared as he packed up his med kit. "You've got to be the only person I know who can go out on a peaceful hike and come back injured."

Kirk smirked again. "Keeps life interesting, though."

McCoy's grip on his med kit tightened for a moment when he remembered how catatonic Kirk had been just weeks before. "Yeah," he muttered, swallowing hard when his voice cracked. "Interesting."

And just like that, the tension was back. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment before they both started moving; McCoy set the med kit out of the way while Kirk grabbed the beers off the counter and brought them to the table.

They ate in silence for several minutes before Kirk finally asked, "Have you had a chance to see Joanna yet?"

McCoy shook his head. "She and Jocelyn are on some worldwide tour."

"I'm sorry, Bones. That sucks."

McCoy shrugged a shoulder. "I wasn't planning on shore leave for another four months. It's not like I expected them to change their plans last-minute, especially with Jocelyn being the way she is. Besides," he added after just a moment's hesitation, looking Kirk in the eyes, "she's not the only family I've got to keep an eye on."

Kirk flushed a little as he grabbed the bottle of beer in front of him and took a drink. He lowered it back to the table, then picked it up again and stared intently at it as he twirled the bottle between his fingers. "I don't know if I can go back, Bones," he confessed so quietly that the doctor almost missed it.

McCoy stared at the younger man for a long moment, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he studied his friend. Kirk kept his gaze focused on the beer bottle as he picked at the label with his thumbnail.

"C'mon," the CMO finally growled, rising to his feet and grabbing Kirk's arm.

Kirk looked up in confusion. "Bones, what-"

"Jim, just shut up and come with me," McCoy interrupted, tightening his grip on Kirk's arm slightly as he guided his friend around the kitchen table and out the door.

The night air was cool and crisp. McCoy felt goose bumps rise on his skin, but said nothing as he released Kirk's arm and plopped down on the grass in front of the cabin. "What are you doing?" Kirk asked as McCoy laid flat on the ground, crossing his ankles and resting his head on one hand.

"Taking advantage of the location," McCoy replied, pointing with his free hand at the millions of stars twinkling in the sky. The atmosphere was thinner this high up the mountain, and the lack of cities nearby meant there was no light pollution to drown out the soft glow of the stars.

Kirk's lips twitched a little as he stretched out on the grass next to his friend. "This never used to be your kind of thing," he pointed out. "You always hated looking at space."

McCoy snorted. "Who said the only habits I picked up from you were bad ones?"

"You did. After that mission near Risa."

A cool breeze drifted over them, and McCoy suppressed a shiver. "Maybe I was right. We might catch pneumonia at this rate," he muttered under his breath.

"Mmmm," Kirk hummed in contentment as he stared up at the stars. McCoy smiled, letting his shoulders relax a little. He hadn't realized until this evening just how much he'd missed this kind of banter with Kirk.

They stared at the sky in silence for awhile. McCoy followed the flight path of a satellite until it disappeared from sight behind the Bridgers. "Bones? Why are we out here?" Kirk asked.

McCoy twisted his head slightly so he could glance over at his friend. Kirk was still looking up at the sky, and McCoy could see bits of starlight reflecting off his eyes. The doctor turned his own gaze back to the stars. "Remember how you used to drag me out to our hill any time I started second-guessing my decision to sign up with Starfleet?"

"Bones—"

"You'd make me stare up at the sky and tell me every myth related to every single constellation," McCoy continued, ignoring Kirk when he tried to break in. "Not to mention all the myths from a slew of different alien races. I still don't know which ones are actual myths and which ones you made up."

"I know what you're—"

"It worked, you know," McCoy finished. It was true; he wasn't exactly sure when it happened. But somewhere along the way, space stopped being a place McCoy was sure he would get lost in; now, it was a place he wanted to travel through, even if he still hated ships, shuttlecrafts, transportation, and anything remotely related to flying.

Kirk sighed through his nose. "Bones…"

"You can't honestly tell me you don't want to go back," McCoy declared, twisting his head to look at Kirk. "That's what you've always dreamed about, Jim! Exploring space, getting a close up view of all the stars in Orion's belt, orbiting Polaris…you talked about it so much it made me crazy enough to want to do it, too. So don't give me any bullshit about not wanting to be in space anymore."

Kirk kept his eyes glued to the sky. "I _want _to, Bones," he whispered after a long moment. "I just don't think I _can_."

McCoy blinked. "What? What do you mean?"

"It follows me everywhere."

"_What _follows you?"

In the faint light of the stars, McCoy saw the corner of Kirk's mouth twist in a bitter smirk. "Chaos. Destruction. Death. All of it, Bones. Everywhere I go."

McCoy's fist clenched in the grass. "Jim, you can't—"

Kirk thrust an arm in the air and pointed. McCoy twisted his head to look in the direction Kirk was pointing. "There? That's where the _Kelvin _was destroyed." Kirk shifted his arm slightly and pointed at another area of the sky. "That's Tarsus IV." The arm shifted again. "There's where Vulcan used to be."

Kirk moved his arm once more and was quiet for a long moment. "Wertus I," he whispered, leaving his hand in the air for another moment before letting it fall back to the grass.

McCoy swallowed as a heavy silence enveloped them. "Jim…"

"It's like a curse. I can't get away from it, Bones," Kirk whispered, voice thick. "And next time, it might not be some random colonist that I just met. It might be Chekov. Or Scotty or Uhura. Or _you_. It might be the entire _Enterprise_, and I just… I can't do it, Bones. I can't let that happen."

"You're not cursed, Jim."

Kirk's chuckle came out more as a strangled sob. "Sure seems like it. Everywhere I go, people die. It might not be my fault, but that doesn't change the fact that everyone around me dies."

"That's because you throw yourself headfirst into dangerous situations, Jim," McCoy replied firmly. "You face down the challenges no one else can."

"What good does it do if everyone dies?" Kirk asked bitterly. "If I accomplish the mission but destroy lives and spread chaos in the meantime, what good is any of it? Because that's what happens around me, Bones. That's what happens when I let people get too close."

McCoy scowled. He raised his arm and pointed. "That's where a father gave his life for his family because he knew his son was worth dying for." He shifted his arm and spoke before Kirk could interject. "That's where an innocent child escaped a madman that slaughtered four thousand people without due cause."

His hand moved once more. "That's where another madman nearly annihilated an entire race, and would've wiped out the entire Federation if not for a crazy kid who might not always know what he's doing but who's damn good at what he does." He hesitated for a moment before moving his hand again. "And that's where the Romulans broke the treaty, nearly killed the best captain Starfleet's ever had, and unofficially declared war on the Federation," he finished, lowering his arm and tilting his head to look at his friend.

"Bones…"

"Jim," McCoy said sternly. "It wasn't your fault. There was absolutely nothing you could have done to stop _any _of it."

"But if I hadn't been there—"

"If you weren't near Vulcan, the _Enterprise _would have been destroyed the moment we dropped out of warp and Nero would've wiped out Earth and every other Federation planet," McCoy interjected. "And if you weren't near Wertus I, Starfleet never would have known that the Romulans had breached the treaty."

"Damn it, Bones, you have to listen to me! I can _never _go back!" Kirk exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and glaring down at the doctor. "There's too much risk having me around."

"I'm pretty sure Spock can prove you wrong," McCoy replied as he rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. "You might be reckless, sure, but you're _smart_, Jim. You don't back down from a challenge because, in case you haven't noticed, you're _always _able to find a way out of it. Hell, Kid, I'm pretty sure you're the safest captain to serve under in all of Starfleet. Everyone knows it, too—that's why they all want to transfer over. Uhura told me there's three hundred people on a waiting list for an assignment on the _Enterprise_."

Kirk stared at him, a muscle working in his jaw as his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "But… Bones, I don't—"

"Look, Jim," McCoy cut in gently, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "One way or the other, the _Enterprise _is going back out on its mission. The crew's going to be in danger whether you're there or not. Are you going to let them go through that alone? Do you _honestly _think you'll feel better if you're down here while we're up there?"

They stared at each other for a long moment before Kirk's shoulders slumped. The doctor was sure the younger man was about to say something, but instead Kirk sat down and stretched out on the grass again. McCoy had to resist the urge to sigh as he laid back down on the ground next to Kirk.

Silence fell over them again as they looked back up at the stars. "You knew about Tarsus," Kirk murmured after awhile. "My mom tell you that?"

McCoy nodded. "You should've told me about it a long time ago, though," he added. "Even if I weren't your friend, it's still information that a captain's CMO should know."

Kirk shifted a little on the grass. "I thought I was over it. Been there, done that, and all that crap," he replied softly. "I didn't think it really mattered anymore."

"Well, I can't speak from experience, but I would bet my medical license that no one can ever completely get over something like that," McCoy said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

"Who else knows?"

McCoy scowled, turning his head to glare at the younger man. "Jim, if you honestly think people would question—"

"It's not the questions I'm worried about," Kirk interrupted, propping himself up on an elbow. "I don't need anyone's pity, Bones. What happened on Tarsus was horrible beyond words, but it's done. Over. In the past. I got out and moved on. I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me about something they can't change."

McCoy studied Kirk for a moment. "Fair enough," he relented. "I did tell Spock. I doubt he'll tell anyone else without your permission because that's how he is, and I don't plan on spreading it around, either."

The corner of Kirk's mouth lifted in a small smile. "Thanks," he murmured, lying flat on the grass again.

They silently watched the stars for a few minutes. McCoy's eyes followed the path of a shooting star as it streaked across the sky, flaring in the sky for a moment before fading away into the night. "How _did _you escape?" he asked.

"From Tarsus or the Romulans?" Kirk countered after a moment.

"Yes," McCoy replied, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

Kirk snorted but didn't reply for awhile. "The Romulans kept me on their ship, not all that far from the Neutral Zone. After a couple days, they figured I couldn't escape, and the guards got sloppy," he said finally. "They didn't tighten the restraints around my wrists as tight as they could go."

McCoy scowled when he remembered the deep abrasions on Kirk's wrists and hands; the marks would have scarred without a dermal regenerator. "They were tight enough," he growled.

Kirk sighed through his nose. "I finally managed to get a hand loose. Once I had that free, I was able to slide the chain through the loop holding it to the wall. I choked one guard out with the chain and used the nerve pinch on the other." He paused. "I never did thank Spock for teaching me that move."

"I didn't think that move would work on a Romulan or a Vulcan because of their physiological differences," McCoy commented, raising an eyebrow.

"You've got to squeeze a little higher on their shoulders, but they still have the same cluster of nerves there," Kirk replied. "Anyway, I managed to get to their transporter without too many problems, and you know the rest."

"And Tarsus?"

Kirk was silent for a moment. "We haven't had enough alcohol for that yet."

McCoy nodded once and let that subject go for the moment, chewing his lip and frowning a little as a thought crossed his mind. "It's been more than a week, Jim."

Kirk wasn't thrown off by the non sequitur. "I know."

"So tell me the truth, Jim," McCoy prodded, staring at Kirk's profile. "How are you?"

Kirk folded his hands across his stomach and sighed. "Better," he murmured. "Not great. But better than before."

McCoy nodded and smiled a bit. Some progress was much better than no progress at all; it gave McCoy hope that, in time, things would get back to their version of normal.

In the meantime, there were other pressing problems to deal with. "Did Spock tell you about Westervliet?"

Kirk nodded. "The message notifying everyone about the change in plans was sent out this morning. The Etlics' diplomatic party should arrive tomorrow afternoon."

"And?" McCoy prompted after Kirk didn't continue.

Kirk rolled onto his side to look at McCoy. "And… you're right," he declared. "I would go nuts if you and Spock and Sulu and everyone else were up there and I was stuck down here." He grinned when McCoy started smiling. "So I guess that means I've got to have a little chat with the Council tomorrow."

"I'll go in with you."

"No," Kirk replied with a shake of his head, shifting so he was sitting cross-legged on the grass. McCoy's forehead furrowed in confusion as he moved to mirror Kirk's position. "If I'm going to get my ship back, I need to face them alone. They have to believe I can do this on my own."

"And can you?" McCoy asked.

"No," Kirk replied bluntly. His lips curved in a smile. "But then, I've never needed to in these last nine months. I doubt you guys are going to let me start now."

McCoy smirked. "Damn straight, Kid," he declared. "So… what's your plan?"

"The crew's supposed to report back to the ship at oh-nine-hundred hours," Kirk said. "In the morning, I'll have Spock beam you aboard and me to San Francisco. If everything works out, I should be able to be onboard the ship at ten-hundred." The corner of his mouth lifted. "We can keep our bikes stored here in the shed—for next shore leave."

"How do you know the Council's going to be available then?"McCoy asked. "Don't they need at least twenty-four hours notice for a meeting?"

Kirk smiled ruefully. "Pike sent me a message this morning telling me the Council would be waiting for me then," he admitted. "Guess he figured you'd be able to persuade me in time to make it."

"Do I ever make you do anything you don't want to?" McCoy pointed out.

Kirk grinned. "Studying for tests, taking bi-monthly physicals, eating vegetables," he listed, ticking each one off on his fingers. "And that's only the tip of the iceberg, Bones." McCoy rolled his eyes as Kirk stood. Kirk's expression sobered. "So… we good?" he asked, holding out his hand.

McCoy smiled and grabbed the proffered hand. Kirk's grip was warm and firm as he tugged the doctor to his feet. "Yeah," McCoy declared with a nod. "We're good."


	6. Epilogue: Guess who just got back today

_**A/N: **Notes, disclaimer, etc. in Part I._

_**Doctor My Eyes  
**_**_Epilogue: Guess who just got back today_**

_"Guess who just got back today?  
__Them wild-eyed boys that had been away."  
__-Thin Lizzy, "The Boys Are Back in Town"_

"Och, Doc, you want to slow it down a bit? You're makin' me dizzy," Scott declared from his seat as he watched McCoy pace back and forth in front of the transporter.

The CMO shot a harsh glare at the engineer. Scott merely raised an eyebrow in response, but Chekov flinched instinctively in the chair next to him.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Sulu reassured. He tapped the fingers on his left hand against his thigh nervously as he leaned against the transporter console. "You know how long-winded those Council members can be. They're probably just dragging on and on or something."

"While this is in fact true eighty-six percent of the time, the Council is aware that the _Enterprise_is scheduled to depart at sixteen-hundred hours today," Spock pointed out. He stood just behind Scott's chair, hands clasped behind his back. "Thus they should know to keep their session brief in order to ensure our timely departure."

"These are Council members, Spock," Uhura interjected before anyone else could comment. She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs at the ankles. "Just because they _should _know doesn't mean they will."

"Besides, the keptin is only twenty-nine minutes late," Chekov added. "There is still plenty of time for him to return."

"Damn it, I _knew _I should have stayed down there with him," McCoy muttered as he resumed his pacing. "Those damn fool sons of—"

"Leonard?" Uhura said as she studied the doctor. "How much coffee have you had today?" Her mouth twitched a little at the deadpan look McCoy gave her.

"Besides, they can't really be serious about taking the _Enterprise _away from him," Sulu commented. "Right?" he added when he saw the look on McCoy's face and the concerned furrow between Spock's eyebrows.

"If they are, I hope they realize they're not gonna have much of a crew left," Scott replied. "They'll have a right fun time explainin' _that _to the Etlics."

Before anyone could reply, the communicator built into the transporter console chirped. "_Admiral Pike to _Enterprise."

Everyone froze for a moment, staring at each other with wide eyes, before Scott leaned forward and keyed in a command. "Scott here, sir."

Pike's voice was expressionless as he declared, "_One to beam up, Mr. Scott_."

"Aye, sir," Scott replied.

"What does that mean?" Uhura murmured as Chekov locked on to the communicator's signal.

McCoy swallowed as he turned to look at the platform. He'd had an early-morning breakfast with Kirk just a few hours previous; at the time, he was convinced he'd be going back into space with his friend. Kirk had been confident in his ability to persuade the Council. But now, after hearing Pike's voice on the communicator instead of Kirk's, McCoy wasn't sure what to expect.

"Admiral Pike may simply be coming onboard to inform us about the proceedings," Spock said quietly.

"He could tell us that over the communicator or on a vidscreen," Sulu pointed out as beams of white light started swirling on the pad. "He wouldn't have to come onboard."

The light brightened momentarily before fading away. Kirk stood there in his gold command uniform, hands curled loosely at his sides and a huge grin on his face as he stared at them. "Shouldn't you guys be working?"

Cheers echoed throughout the small room as Chekov and Scott jumped up from their chairs. McCoy folded his arms and shook his head, a wide smile on his face as Sulu, Chekov, and Scott mobbed the captain. "You sneaky bastard!" Scott exclaimed as he threw an arm around the captain's shoulders. "You had me goin' there for a minute! Thought for sure Pike was gonna be comin' up here t' tell us you'd been sacked!"

Kirk shook his head. "Unofficial probation," he replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sulu asked.

"Hell if I know," Kirk answered with a shrug. "I think it was their way of trying to reprimand me without actually doing anything."

"How'd Admiral Westervliet take it?" Uhura asked, crossing her arms as she stood next to Spock.  
Kirk grinned as he looked at her. "I'm pretty sure he was about to have an aneurysm. I haven't seen anyone look that close to exploding since Bones accidentally called—"

"We _aren't_talking about that, Jim!" McCoy barked, taking a reflexive step forward. The others looked at him with curiosity; even Spock's eyebrow was raised in interest.

"But she-"

"_No_, Jim," McCoy ordered. Kirk's fake pout lasted for only a moment before he started grinning again.

Spock took a step forward. "Orders, sir?"

Kirk squared his shoulders as he looked at them. His grin softened into a fond smile. "Prepare the ship for takeoff," he ordered. "Our guests are arriving in two hours. I want to leave in three."

"Aye, sir," everyone chorused. Scott and Sulu both gave the captain one last pat on the back before they followed the others out of the room.

Within moments only Kirk and McCoy were left. "So… no problems?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shook his head. "Like I said—unofficial probation. Which basically means they're still including the clause in my contract about the full Council review."

McCoy nodded once. "Could've been worse, I guess."

Kirk tilted his head. "You're really excited to be back," he commented, a hint of surprise in his voice.

McCoy snorted. "No, Jim. I'd much rather be destroying my lower back riding a motorcycle and trying to catch up with you. That was way more fun than this."

Kirk smiled as he reached up and squeezed McCoy's wrist. "Thanks, Bones," he said. "For everything."

"Just doin' my job," McCoy replied with a shrug, mouth tilting in a small smile. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on you." His eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend. "You know we're not done talking about all of this, right?"

Kirk nodded. "I know. I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Good. Just making sure we're on the same page," McCoy said as they headed for the turbo lift.

Kirk raised an eyebrow. "That phrase was outdated more than a century ago. Guess that says a lot about you."

"You think _I'm_outdated? You're the one that's obsessed with buying books printed on actual paper," McCoy shot back.

"I know you like reading books on paper, too," Kirk replied. He smirked as he pressed the button to call the lift. "You just can't because the print's too small for your old eyes."

McCoy scowled. "Careful who you call 'old,'" he said, stepping onto the lift behind the younger man. "I'm the one with access to the hypos and three different strains of Hytrian."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Isn't that the alien STD that makes your—"

"Yep," McCoy interrupted with a smirk. "The third strain makes it permanent."

He laughed at the horrified expression on Kirk's face as he leaned back against the turbo lift wall and closed his eyes.

Yeah, he decided. He _was _excited to be back.

_End_.


End file.
